Breathless
by GreenWood Elf
Summary: In a place where the captain of all the men of death reigned supreme, she sought resurrection. Sequel to Consumed.
1. Chapter One Ether Shadows and Phantoms

**Author's Note: **Welcome to the first chapter of "Breathless" the sequel to my novel "Consumed". This fic may be read as a stand-alone as pertinent back-story will gradually be revealed. I hope you enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Rowling's work, however, all OCs mentioned herein belong to me.

**Medical Disclaimer: **Much of this story revolves around the infectious disease, tuberculosis and its treatment. The methods I have described in this story are a mixture of both modern regimens and outdated procedures from the heyday of the sanatorium. For the purpose of this story, the main character contracts and suffers from a strain of multi-drug resistant tuberculosis found only in "wizards", therefore, her experience may differ from the experience of a "muggle" with the same disease. Finally, I am not a physician. My statements regarding tuberculosis, although thoroughly researched, should not be taken as actual medical facts.

_Cast List:_

_Forbia "Freddy" Fotherby - Melanie Lynskey_

_Healer Calum Crane - Peter Facinelli_

_Nurse Jenkins - Samantha Morton _

**Chapter One Ether Shadows and Phantoms**

"_Quite unbelievably_

_I want someone to be sweet to me_

_When I'm in absolutely horrible pain" [1]_

Late March, 1994

Coughing. It was the sound of coughing that would drive Freddy insane. Drive her mad before she could die.

The walls of the sanatorium, washed yellow with fresh paint, were deceptively thin. In the night, when the old pipes stopped rattling for a heartbeat, Freddy could hear the other patients hacking away.

Some made great, wet noises, their mouths thick with blood. Others wheezed dryly and Freddy pictured them hanging over their beds, trying in vain to produce some of the sputum that clogged their lungs.

And in listening to them, she herself would cough, contributing to the symphony of consumptives housed in the intensive care ward.

It was an awful racket and during the night, Freddy thought she would go mad. The slats that made up the footboard of her bed became bars and she was a prisoner, kept in place not by chains, but by her own weakness. Flushed with fever, she dreamed of ether shadows, of phantoms and the captain of all the men of death who was a greedy guardian angel. _[2]_

But then dawn came, inching its way into her room as a splotch of color on her blankets. An hour later the pipes would start hissing again. And the coughing, that wretched coughing, finally stopped.

She had survived the dark for a few more hours.

Two weeks after her arrival, Freddy came to the conclusion that it would be very easy to feel sorry for herself. There was a rule against melancholy amongst patients, although she truly couldn't see herself abiding by it. Instead, she lived apart from her mind, watching the stirrings in her little world, the strict routines and regimens that guided the lives of nearly three hundred patients.

Outside her room, the orderlies in their white robes wheeled breakfast carts up and down the hall, depositing trays of eggs and bacon in front of their charges and collecting the sputum cups that would be taken to the incinerator.

The door to Freddy's room was kept open at all times, dampening privacy, making her self-conscious when she was in so much discomfort.

Her chest was caving in, she was sure of it. Healer Crane must have botched the pneumonectomy and taken out all of her ribs and that's why she couldn't breathe. Moist, gasping noises interspaced her coughs. Her bed sheets were soaked with last night's sweat. She tried to roll over, but was in too much pain to propel herself onto her side. Reaching out an arm, she grasped the edge of the bed and pulled.

"What do you think you're doing, Professor?"

A voice, any voice unscarred by TB was a rarity these days. Freddy looked up.

Nurse Jenkins stepped into the room and promptly pushed her back into bed.

"I can't breathe," Freddy panted, "I thought I was dying."

"Still, you're not supposed to get out of bed."

"Can't I have some essence of murtlap?"

Nurse Jenkins pursed her lips. She was head of the ward Freddy was in and in a way, reminded her of a young McGonagall. Jenkins, however, was perpetually sour. Freddy assumed it had something to do with her surname, which was actually Jensis. Everyone mispronounced it as Jenkins, even though it was neatly spelled out on the name tag pinned to her crisp, blue robes.

"No more potions." Jenkins fussed over the rumpled sheets, pressing a palm to Freddy's forehead. "You're overheated. I'll have to open the windows."

"Oh please don't!" Freddy coughed up a mouthful of sputum.

Jenkins paused by the window catch and sighed. "Try to control your coughing."

"I can't."

"You can," the nurse replied tersely, snatching Freddy's sputum cup from her hand. "Do you see this sputum? That's your lungs in there. Control your coughing."

Freddy whimpered softly. "Please, can't I have some murtlap? Or something for the pain, at least."

"No more potions for now. Healer Crane's orders."

Oh, it was terribly unfair! Freddy thought she might cry…if she could ever get her breath back. No more potions. Healer Crane had successfully weaned her off most of the potions the healers at St. Mungo's had used to stabilize her after her surgery a month ago. Now that the wound was healing, he wanted to focus strictly on the infectious TB that was still nibbling away at her chest cavity. But Freddy couldn't understand why he wouldn't give her a little murtlap…just a little murtlap to soothe the pain near her ribs.

"Would you like a glass of water instead?" Nurse Jenkins offered.

Freddy could tell from the sharp tone of her voice that she was beginning to lose her patience. Honestly, she couldn't blame the poor woman. There were fifty beds on the intensive care ward, all occupied by critically ill patients that needed attention around the clock.

But still, that didn't make Freddy feel any better about the murtlap.

"No," she muttered, sinking back against her pillows. After being confined to a bed for over a month, she was starting to get uncomfortable. The sheets were always tangling about her legs and every time a nurse entered to rearrange her pillows, Freddy would cry out in pain as she was gingerly lifted up.

She wanted to get up more than anything…_anything_. But her body betrayed her, refusing to budge more than few inches at a time.

Freddy struggled to swallow away her frustration. This tuberculosis business was not as romantic as the Victorians made it seem.

"Very well." Nurse Jenkins was just about to finish opening her window when a robed figure shuffled by Freddy's door. "Oh no…Mr. Hatterly! Mr. Hatterly you mustn't be out of bed!"

_Good for him_, Freddy thought to herself and watched as Nurse Jenkins gave chase.

The window above her bed was only half-open now. She could feel a deliciously soft breeze teasing her hair. For a moment, she shut her eyes and tried to forget about the horrible squeezing sensation clutching her chest.

The row of "Get Well" cards she kept on her locker tipped over as the Yorkshire wind swept through the room. Freddy closed her eyes and tried to imagine what the moors outside looked like. Her bed did not face the window, which was perhaps for the best. The sight of the outside world, budding and birthing under the touch of spring, was too torturous for an invalid.

Invalid, yes, that's what I am, she told herself, even as her mind recoiled from the word.

Invalid. Invalid. _Invalid._

It had been over a month since she had been diagnosed with tuberculosis and removed from her post at Hogwarts as Professor of International Magic. The disease had only been discovered after a very violent hemorrhage which left her near death in February. After being rushed to St. Mungo's, she was promptly put into the care of Healer Calum Crane, an expert in the field of multi-treatment resistant tuberculosis in wizards.

Crane himself was Healer-in-Chief of his own sanatorium, funded, of course, by the Ministry of Magic. And although she wouldn't risk saying it out loud, Freddy found the place downright unnerving. She had only been afforded a brief view of the brick façade on the day of her admittance, but even the brief glimpse reminded her of some dreadful Muggle boarding school. The hallways were long and straight, the floors inlaid with some green-speckled, imitation slate. Freddy was revolted by the notion of institutionalization. It reminded her of a trashy horror novel in which hapless patients became the victims of twisted experiments performed by modern day Doctor Frankensteins.

And no one could hear you scream, even if you cried until your lungs bled, which they frequently did.

Freddy shut her eyes and whimpered. Oh, if only she had a little murtlap.

The sensible click of low-heeled shoes in the corridor made her frown. She knew that walk.

Sure enough, Nurse Jenkins stepped inside the room, pinning back her unruly hair beneath her white cap.

"Now, where were we, Professor?"

"The murtlap," Freddy said, hoping the woman would just leave and let her sleep.

Nurse Jenkins smiled tersely. "Ah yes. You can take the matter up with Healer Crane yourself, if you like. He wants to see you before breakfast. I'll have one of the orderlies bring in a wheelchair."

Freddy raised her eyebrows. Now this was new. Since her arrival, Crane had always come to her room to her. She had never been permitted outside.

_A shame_, she though wryly to herself, _the highlight of my day is getting into a wheelchair_.

But she wasn't complaining. Not anymore.

* * *

Healer Crane's examining room was not at all as Freddy had expected. For one thing, there were no dreary medical tableaus pinned to the hunter green walls, but rather, lush paintings of the Pre-Raphaelite era. The table she was made to sit upon reminded her a bit of reclining couch one might find in a Freudian's office, its hide leather, not steel. Freddy found herself studying the patterns in the Venetian carpet beneath her dangling feet, measuring her precious breaths between coughs.

Crane arrived at a quarter past two, not a moment too late.

He was a tall man, lean and somewhat too pale. Freddy often wondered if he had ever contracted tuberculosis himself, having worked so closely with contagious patients for years on end.

Other than his colorless features, he was quite handsome, the type of handsome that made her feel intimidated. Freddy had once considered herself a decent looking girl, but now she was a scraggly thing with limp braids, bloodshot eyes and a pattern of intricate scars on her chest.

But Crane was lovely. All spit and polish. And she often heard the nurses chatting away about him being named one of _Witch Weekly_'s top fifty most eligible bachelors.

Whatever. Gilderoy Lockhart had been granted the same honor and he didn't have two brain cells to rub together. And honestly, Freddy didn't care if Crane looked like a wart on a troll, so long as he could cure her.

"Ah, I see your spine is still working," he said congenially, pulling up a small stool on wheels and seating himself by the examining table. "An improvement, I would say."

"Yes," Freddy replied through gritted teeth. Her spine, however, was currently remonstrating her for spending over a month in bed. Irritable little cricks and creaks made her feel like an arthritic old maid. "I'm still rather sore about my lung though."

"Figuratively or literally?"

"Both."

"Well, let's see what we can do." He reached forward and carefully opened the front of her robe, exposing the bone-white bandages beneath. The dressing wrapped around her chest and was held in place by a second bandage that looped over her shoulder.

Freddy wrinkled her nose as she smelled antiseptic rising from the wound.

Crane threw the soiled bandages in a dish held out for him by Nurse Jenkins. And then he sat forward, staring at the thin, long scar. "It's healing nicely. Better than I expected. The infection, however, is another matter. We still need to clean you up."

"I hate to be vain," Freddy mumbled, wanting to talk about anything besides TB, "but isn't it awfully disfiguring?"

He laughed. "Let me show you something." Standing, he crossed the room to the obligatory bookcase and scanned the smart, impressive-looking tomes. After a moment, he found the one he wanted and extracted it.

"Before the pneumonectomy was considered a viable procedure for the treatment of tuberculosis," he said, flipping through the pages idly, "Muggle doctors performed what was called a thoracoplasty. Here's the end result."

He showed her a black and white picture of a shirtless man with a scar that looked like a zipper. It curved from underneath his left breast, under his arm, until it ran parallel to the shoulder blade.

Freddy was speechless.

"Thankfully, we've retired that particular surgery from our treatment regimen."

"I suppose I should be relieved, then."

"It would be helpful."

"But I'm not."

Crane replaced the book on his shelf. "We are in for a long haul here, you know."

Freddy stared at the carpet again, feeling somewhat embarrassed. She hoped that Crane wouldn't chide her for being despondent. "I know…I'm just not used to being in one place for so long a time."

"Your Professor of International Magic at Hogwarts, yes? Our first teacher to be admitted to the sanatorium."

"Do I get a medal?" Freddy responded, forcing a smile.

Crane humored her poor joke, smiling. "You must travel frequently then, unless you take all your curriculum from books."

"No, I love to travel!"

"Have you ever been to India?" Crane was fussing with her file. He lifted out several x-rays that showed the great empty cavity where her left lung had been and the two upper lobes of her right lung that were still infected.

Freddy tried to concentrate on his questions, forcing her eyes away from the troubling x-rays. "Umm, yes. In fact, when I was twenty-three, I spent two weeks in New Delhi. But my…that was nearly ten years ago!"

"Time flies," Crane agreed. He was now listening to her breathing with a stethoscope. "I went to Mumbai myself for six months. Did some work in the slums. You can't imagine how rampant TB is there." He paused, shaking his head. "But for the record, I like to travel as well. Tell me, do you have a favorite destination, or is it impossible to chose just one place?"

Freddy shrugged a little and tried to laugh. "That's not an easy question. I don't know…although, I would like to go back to the south of France for a while, or somewhere along the Mediterranean, where it's breezy and warm and I can drink some outrageous wine and eat smelly cheese."

Crane withdrew the stethoscope. "I'd like to go with you."

"What about your patients?"

"You are my patient."

"Oh."

He returned his gaze to the x-rays, his clear brow puckering. "Forbia, we have to take care of this."

"Freddy, it's Freddy," she said, blushing as she interrupted him. "Everyone calls me Freddy, less of a tongue-twister than Forbia Fotherby."

Crane exhaled through his nose, amused. "All right then. Freddy. As I was saying, we have to take care of this."

"It's bad, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is, but I'm confident that I can handle this if you let me. We need to clean up your right lung. I'm going to introduce several new potions, along with some Muggle medicines. _You_ are going to stay in bed and take the cure. I'll also send word to the kitchens. Your diet needs adjusting. You've lost too much weight."

"You're going to fatten me up?"

"Only until you get your strength back."

Freddy felt at ease under his smile. It wasn't exactly paternal, but comforting in an odd sort of way. Healer Crane spent another few minutes chatting with her about nonsense before Nurse Jenkins brought the wheelchair around again.

"I'll see you soon, Freddy," he told her, squeezing her hand, his palm slightly sweaty.

On the way back up to her room, Freddy slouched wearily in the chair, feeling deflated. Nurse Jenkins's low-heeled shoes created a cadence on the green-speckled floor.

"Don't look so down," she said, her usually tight voice straining to be cheerful. "I believe you have a visitor."

* * *

**Glossary of Terms**

**Tuberculosis/TB/Consumption: **An infectious disease which commonly attacks the lungs causing a persistent cough, the spitting up of blood, weight loss, fatigue, pallor, fever and night sweats. Mycobacteria is transmitted through the air every time the infected sneezes, coughs or spits. Can be cured with a standard regimen of antibiotics unless the disease is multi-drug resistant.

**Sanatorium: **A medical facility dedicated to long-term convalescence, usually associated with tuberculosis. Sanatorium normally refers to a hospital setting, whereas sanitarium suggests a health spa. Not to be confused with a mental health facility or psychiatric hospital.

**Sputum Cup: **Used in sanatoriums to contain the infected sputum of patients. Quite literally, a cup or cardboard box which was kept by the patient until collected and incinerated.

**Pneumonectomy: **A surgical procedure in which a damaged or infected lung is removed.

**Thoracoplasty: **A historical treatment for tuberculosis. A surgical procedure in which numerous ribs are removed and pushed into the thoracic cavity, causing the lung to collapse. This procedure is greatly disfiguring to the patient.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Thanks so much for taking the time to read! For those of you that have read "Consumed", I do hope this first chapter lived up to your expectations and wasn't too disappointing. If you have a free moment, please leave a review. I'd love to hear from you. The next chapter should be posted soon. Take care!

_**Citations: **_

_[1] _Taken from "Incident in a Medical Clinic" as performed by Rasputina from their album _Oh Perilous World _(2007). Lyrics by Melora Creager.

_[2]_ The phrase "the captain of all the men of death" is an infamous pseudonym for consumption penned by John Bunyan when he wrote, "the captain of all these men of death that came against him to take him away was the consumption, for it was that that brought him down to the grave."


	2. Chapter Two Visiting Hours

**Disclaimer:** I claim no ownership of Rowling's work, however, all OCs mentioned herein belong to me.

**Medical Disclaimer:** Much of this story revolves around the infectious disease, tuberculosis and its treatment. The methods I have described in this story are a mixture of both modern regimens and outdated procedures from the heyday of the sanatorium. For the purpose of this story, the main character contracts and suffers from a strain of multi-drug resistant tuberculosis found only in "wizards", therefore, her experience may differ from the experience of a "muggle" with the same disease. Finally, I am not a physician. My statements regarding tuberculosis, although thoroughly researched, should not be taken as actual medical facts.

_Cast List:_

_Forbia "Freddy" Fotherby - Melanie Lynskey _

_Healer Calum Crane - Peter Facinelli _

_Nurse Jenkins - Samantha Morton _

_Remus Lupin - James D'Arcy_

**Chapter Two Visiting Hours**

There was a tall, lanky man awaiting Freddy in her room. He smiled when she was wheeled in, the dark circles beneath his eyes lessening some.

"Professor Lupin!" Freddy was so excited that she nearly forgot all the nurses had told her about restricting movement and such. She tried to get up from her chair, but was shocked when her legs did not fully support her, and she had to be helped back into bed.

Lupin politely turned his back until she was settled, though Freddy did feel a good deal of embarrassment as Jenkins fussed over her. At last the nurse left, giving her a pointed look as if to warn her against too much activity. Freddy was relieved that she hadn't said anything. It was wretched to be reprimanded like a child when one was quite grown.

"Hello, Freddy," Lupin said, finding the solitary chair next to her bed and seating himself. He was wearing his patched and frayed travelling cloak, and his grey-streaked hair had a wind-blown appearance as if he had come striding in from the moors. "I hope you don't mind my dropping by. I had a free Saturday…made sure to mark all my papers last night, you know!"

Freddy said nothing, fighting the urge to grab his hand and wring it tightly. But then she would look pathetic and awkward and obscenely crazy, and she would never, never have a visit from him again.

Instead, she laid back on one of her many pillows and raised her eyebrows. "Ah, so we're friends now?" Her voice was strained, and he must have noticed it, for he frowned thoughtfully.

"If I can remember correctly," Lupin replied, the breeze from the half-open window tousling his hair further. "Goodness, it's chilly in here. I'm surprised Healer Crane doesn't have you all shut up."

"Oh, he does," Freddy said, somewhat ruefully. "But the windows and doors are always kept open. It's part of the fresh air treatment. I can't really tell the difference, to be honest, especially when I have a fever most of the time." She paused and took a deep breath. Keeping up with any conversation was tiring, but she would be damned if she let anyone see how much she was hurting. "So tell me, I want to know everything about Hogwarts."

_Strange_, she thought, _that I should be asking for news from Lupin. _Two months ago they hadn't even been on proper speaking terms. He had come to Hogwarts in September to fill the vacant post of professor for Defence Against the Dark Arts. From the beginning, Freddy had been suspicious of him, which was largely due to the fact that her one-time fiancé Slatero Quirrell had held the position unsuccessfully (and disastrously) for a short time.

For the first half of the school year, Freddy only just tolerated Lupin's presence, and she was largely threatened by his unassuming attitude. It wasn't until January when she actually began to fall sick that the man had proved his loyalty and trustworthiness. He had helped her when she was quite literally too weak to walk and shielded her illness from the rest of the staff until it became impossible to do so.

Afterwards, they had reached a sort of sickbed understanding which had now bloomed into a tentative friendship.

And as it was, Freddy was terribly glad that he had kept his promise to visit. She was lonely and completely unaccustomed to this strange yearning for human company which now took hold of her.

Lupin, however, seemed to appreciate her predicament.

"Well, there is not much to be said for Hogwarts," he replied steadily. "I'd rather hear about you first. The nurse tells me you are not allowed to get out of bed…and she gave me this pamphlet." He fished around in his pocket and produced a neatly folded piece of parchment that looked almost like a travel brochure.

"_Daily Schedule For Patients_," he read slowly, as premature lines creased his brow. "Is this what they make you do every day? Seven thirty A.M.-Rising Bell. Eight fifteen to nine A.M.-Breakfast. Nine to twelve forty-five-Rest as Ordered. Lunch at one."

"Rest from two to six, then dinner at six fifteen," Freddy continued for him, having memorised the routine for lack of anything better to do. "Lights out at nine thirty, though the nurses come through every half hour with their wands lit and stick it in your face to see if you're still alive. It's like some awful boarding school…I hate it here, Lupin."

"Hmm." He flipped over the pamphlet and read the fine print on the back. "Well, you're partially right. It says here that the main building was once a school for Muggle children, though it was closed in 1980 for renovation and never reopened. The Ministry purchased it in '89 . Supposedly the lower floors are still dormitories, but used by the nurses and staff instead of students."

"Please stop," Freddy muttered, her eyes fluttering. The familiar tightness had taken hold of her chest once more and was currently squeezing the air out of her remaining, pitted lung.

Lupin gazed at her, nonplussed.

"It's just…" She struggled to find words that would properly describe her peculiar claustrophobia. If she didn't phrase things right, she might come off as ungrateful or even foolish. Hospitals were places of comfort, of care and respite from pain. Freddy, however, couldn't adjust to her surroundings.

"I hate the notion of institutionalisation," she said at length, hoping beyond hope that her visitor would understand her.

Lupin sat back in his chair, his long arms resting on his knees. He did not look entirely out of place in her room, she noted, for after all, he bore all the marks of someone battling an illness. Thin wrists poked out of his cuffs, and he seemed in need of a good bed and a hot meal.

He must have noticed her eyes on him, for after a moment he rose and paced in front of her radiator, which now squeaked and creaked as stale steam was pushed up through the pipes.

"I can certainly sympathise with you," Lupin said as he attempted to pace the length of the room. The small, cramped space impeded his progress, however, and made him appear frantic and caged like some restless animal.

Freddy minded what he had told her in Hogsmeade village a month ago. He was a werewolf.

They both agreed that the allegory provided by their disorders was fitting, although Lupin could not retire to a sanatorium to have his ills cured.

"I don't like it here, Remus," she said stubbornly. "I want to go back to Hogwarts and teach again."

His smile was lopsided. "I don't mean any offence, but you really shouldn't waste your breath."

"You sound like Crane. Don't make me nervous."

"I am here to cheer you up, you know."

"Then tell me about Hogwarts," she said. Oh, this truly was wretched! What a horrid pretence of conversation and cordiality!

Anger rose up within her. "I can't stand this," Freddy said, raising her voice more than she meant to.

Lupin stopped his pacing at once.

"Freddy-"

"I know I shouldn't have complained about teaching. I really do love it, and I want to go back. And…and I want to be left alone, that's it."

Lupin ran a hand through his hair and shook a few strands loose so that they fell over his forehead. Once more, he found the chair by her bedside and sat.

"You still have your post as Professor of International Magic," he replied. "By this time next year, you'll be back to teaching. And I've kept my promise, haven't I? Now I don't think I'll be able to Floo in every Saturday, but McGonagall said she'd come soon and so did Trelawney. Flitwick also said he'd visit in a month or so."

"I'm sorry." Freddy rubbed her sleepy eyes rigorously. Despite her best efforts, she had come off as ungracious. "I…I can't keep whining like this. It's awful. I sound like a wretch." She paused and smiled faintly, if not a bit sheepishly. "Tell me, who's subbing for me? Did they find anyone permanent yet?"

"Professor Vector is overseeing things." Lupin sat back in his chair, appearing somewhat relieved that they had successfully switched topics at last. "She's following your curriculum, giving the students readings and assignments, though she hasn't lectured. It seem as though the headmaster will keep things as is until this year is over."

"She'll be giving the final exam, then. Tell her she has to assign each student a country to write about. I once let them choose for themselves, and everyone picked America or Australia because they couldn't be bothered with translations."

Lupin laughed lowly. "I'll do what I can, though I must say I never took you for a strict teacher."

Freddy ignored his comment. True, she hadn't been the most _involved_ professor at Hogwarts, but being away from the school had made her reflect. She did miss her students, well, at least the ones who didn't gossip behind her back or fall asleep in class.

And unknowingly, she had infected three of them.

"Meg Carlisle, Cass Roderick and Hermione Granger," she mumbled. "How are they, Lupin?"

He rolled his shoulders, flicking his surprisingly pink tongue along his lips before responding. "Good. Meg is still in the Hospital Wing, although I think Madam Pomfrey's looking to release her sometime next week. Both Cass and Hermione have returned to class none the worse for the wear."

"I feel awful, especially for Hermione. She's a rare, enthusiastic student."

"No one blames you."

"Still…I should have known I was contagious."

Lupin looked at her thoughtfully, his dark eyelashes shading his red-rimmed glance. "You're sliding back again. All this melancholy can't be helpful."

"It certainly isn't!"

The voice from the door startled them both. Healer Crane was standing just outside the room, his eyes curiously pinned on Lupin.

Freddy had the feeling that he had been listening to their conversation for several minutes.

"Oh, sorry." Lupin rose awkwardly. "I didn't know visiting hours were over."

Crane checked his watch. "Not entirely. I'm just a little early with my rounds today."

"You probably should be getting back anyway, Lupin," Freddy said, trying to disguise her disappointment.

Crane stepped discreetly out of the room.

Lupin studied her closely. "Are you certain?"

"You look tired. It's not fair of me to take up your only free day."

Lupin shrugged his thin shoulders. "If you're sure. I'll try to make it back next week, but either way I'll send you an owl. Take care, Freddy. And please cheer up." He leaned forward and patted her shoulder lightly.

"Goodbye, Lupin," she replied, watching him leave.

_Oh, if only Crane hadn't come in! _she thought sourly.

* * *

Lupin was surprised to see Crane still lingering in the hall when he left Freddy's room. The Healer was leaning casually against the wall, his eyes directed at a small piece of parchment in his hands which detailed the lab results of a recent sputum test.

"You are her first visitor," he mumbled so that Lupin thought the man was only talking to himself. "Are you related?"

Lupin stopped and offered Crane a tight smile. Much like poor Freddy, he wasn't one for hospitals. They reminded him of his earlier days, when his lycanthropy had been new and the lunar cycle often coincided with trips to St. Mungo's. Before the Wolfsbane Potion, he often tore himself up pretty badly during transformations and required the attention of Healers on more than one occasion.

It wasn't a pleasant time, and being in the sanatorium made him think of straight, long hallways, cold metal tables, and scents that assaulted his all-too-sensitive nose.

No wonder Freddy hated it here.

"I'm a colleague," he replied at length, feeling as though his collar was suddenly too tight. "I teach Defence Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts."

Crane glanced up at him, his expression unreadable. "Welcome to the sanatorium, then. It's nice to have such intellectual visitors for a change. The patients get quite sick of Healers and nurses. Let me walk you to the door…if you're on your way out, that is."

"I wouldn't want to trouble you," Lupin put in politely, although he sensed Crane wasn't one to be easily gotten rid of. "You must be busy."

"I've finished my rounds on this ward for the day. And I don't mind, really." The Healer began to walk in the direction of the lift, his steps slow and measured.

Lupin fell in beside him, feeling especially raggedy next to his companion's crisp white robes and neat gold striped tie.

"It was very considerate of you to stop by," Crane said as they rounded a corner, hugging the wall to make way for an orderly wheeling an empty gurney. "We usually restrict visiting hours here on the intensive care ward, but I think your visit did Professor Fotherby well. Tell me, how long have you known her?"

The question was phrased in an off-hand manner, but Lupin sensed fierce curiosity in Crane's voice.

Without changing his own cordial tone, he raised his guard a notch or two. "Not long. I only started at Hogwarts in September."

"You must have been fast friends."

"Quite the opposite."

Crane stopped in front of the lift and pushed a fat, brass button with his knuckle. "She is lonely here. I can see it."

The observation struck Lupin as slightly odd, though he struggled to keep his features neutral. Certainly Crane realised that all of his patients were in some manner lonely, isolated as they were from family, friends and society in general.

"From what I've gleaned," he said quietly, "sanatorium life can be quite harsh."

Crane laughed at this and stepped into the lift once the door opened. Lupin followed him.

"We try to make it bearable. Fortunately, the days in which consumptives were treated like lepers has passed."

"The isolation is a bit extreme, though, wouldn't you agree?"

"Of course." Crane smiled and stared at his fingernails. "Sanatorium life has its flaws. The methods undertaken during the first half of the century were downright barbaric, actually. I even cautioned the Ministry against opening this facility, though they argued that the caseload was too great for St. Mungo's alone to bear. Tuberculosis is making a comeback, amongst wizards especially."

_And you're the brave white knight keeping the dragon at bay_, Lupin thought to himself, surveying Crane plainly for the first time. The Healer had obviously fallen into the role of hero and, as it seemed, was quite accustomed to it by now.

The lift slid to a stop outside the first floor, and the doors rolled back on creaking hinges, revealing the lobby, once the old gymnasium of the school.

"Well, I ought to be getting back to Hogwarts," Lupin said as he stepped out of the lift and onto the cool, wooden floors. "Saturdays don't last forever."

Crane's smile widened visibly as he pressed another button and the doors began to shut. "Indeed, they don't."

* * *

**Author's Note:** I'm sorry if this chapter was a bit on the slow side, although there is only so much I can do with Freddy in her immobilized state. However, I do promise that she will be up and about in no time. ^_^ The "Daily Schedule for Patients" was adapted from a similar schedule used by the Blue Ridge Tuberculosis Sanatorium in Virginia. All sanatoriums, however, imposed strict routines on their patients, promoting the "rest cure". Since drugs were not available in the first half of the 20th century, the only treatment for consumptives was constant rest in bed. In a Welsh sanatorium, children were actually tied to their beds to keep them for getting up and moving about.

Thank you so much for taking the time to read! Without your kind support, this story would not have come so far. Chapter Three should be posted within the next week. I hope you have a great weekend!


	3. Chapter Three The Solarium

**Disclaimer:** I claim no ownership of Rowling's work, however, all OCs mentioned herein belong to me.

**Medical Disclaimer:** Much of this story revolves around the infectious disease, tuberculosis and its treatment. The methods I have described in this story are a mixture of both modern regimens and outdated procedures from the heyday of the sanatorium. For the purpose of this story, the main character contracts and suffers from a strain of multi-drug resistant tuberculosis found only in "wizards", therefore, her experience may differ from the experience of a "muggle" with the same disease. Finally, I am not a physician. My statements regarding tuberculosis, although thoroughly researched, should not be taken as actual medical facts.

_Cast List:_

_Forbia "Freddy" Fotherby - Melanie Lynskey _

_Healer Calum Crane - Peter Facinelli _

_Nurse Jenkins - Samantha Morton _

_Remus Lupin - James D'Arcy_

_Lavinia Wainwright - Naomi Watts_

**Chapter Three The Solarium **

It was a month before Healer Crane would let Freddy leave her room unsupervised. And even after he gave her permission to leave the Intensive Care Ward, it was only for one hour a day. A single measly hour.

She was allowed to go the solarium and back, on the condition that she'd take absolutely no detours to the dining hall or library. Freddy felt the bitter need to argue with him over this point, but held her peace when she realized that even this precious liberty was at jeopardy.

Crane was only semi-pleased with her progress, he said. She was getting stronger, yes, but her last sputum test had come back positive.

She had TB of the right lung, and it was not going away.

What did that mean? Freddy didn't know, nor did she want to think about it. Instead, she distracted herself with the promise of a daily outing. Freedom, though limited, was better than nothing.

During the last week of April, she left her room unescorted and headed downstairs to the solarium. Although she had been a patient in the sanatorium for nearly two months, Freddy still had trouble finding her way around. Most of the building was a mystery to her and as she tip-toed down the yellow-walled corridors with their green tile floors, she was reminded once more of the burden of life in an institution.

It was very different from life at Hogwarts and she had begun to feel like an orphan in some Dickens' tale. But the other patients she passed in the halls seemed cheerful as they leaned out of their doors to chat with orderlies or simply to watch the world pass by.

Freddy thought they looked a bit like pigeons. Watchers with empty eyes. And she swore to herself that _she_ would never become so inert.

The solarium, once found, was an impressive place. It was a long, narrow room on the second floor with a screened-in terrace and great big windows that overlooked the extensive grounds. Unlike the tiled corridors, the floor here was of solid, polished wood. Wicker lounge chairs and benches were scattered about, along with a few beds that were kept pushed against the white-washed walls. Although Freddy thought the sanatorium to be suffocating, she was impressed by the solarium, a room that was clean, airy and distinctly casual.

Almost all the patients in the solarium were seated, except for one man who was tending to two parakeets in a birdcage; and everyone wore slippers and robes.

Freddy thought the gathering looked absurdly like a pajama party. Pairs of men played chess or cards and some of the women sat in circles, knitting, reading or gossiping. There was a radio in the corner, and it was belching out Celestina Warbeck, who was now making waves with her sudden affinity towards Cole Porter.

Nurses bustled soundlessly between square tables with half-finished jigsaw puzzles and temperatures were taken over the covers of dog-eared magazines.

Freddy suddenly wished to go home. Very badly.

Or at the very least, she wished she had brought a book with her.

Timidly, she picked her way past several of the lounge chairs, all too aware that blood-shot eyes followed her progress. There was a small bookshelf behind one set of benches and she tried to peruse the titles.

_Romance paperbacks. Jane Austen. The Bridges of Madison County._

Ugh, this was going to be difficult. She found little succor amongst the proffered material and was considering one of the puzzle when a twitter of laughter made her jump.

The tight cluster of gossiping women was alight with excitement.

"A new lunger!"

"It's the Hogwarts professor."

"Ask her!"

"Excuse me." One woman, a statuesque blonde who reminded Freddy vaguely of some 1940s movie star, rose from her seat, "Sorry to bother you…but are you the Hogwarts professor who had the pneumonectomy?"

Freddy stared at the glamour girl for a full minute. "Uh, yeah, I think so."

"I knew it!" A second woman chirped.

Someone clapped her hands.

"Oh please, won't you come sit with us?" The blonde pleaded.

Freddy fought the urge to back away, but in truth, she had nothing better to do. "I'm only allowed out for an hour," she said, taking a seat in the circle of patients. Maybe they wouldn't keep her too long…

"Crane is so strict," a tiny witch in a red robe muttered.

The rest of the women ignored her.

"Lavinia," the blonde said, holding out a slender hand. "Do you have a name to go with that impressive title, professor?"

"Freddy," she replied with a nervous hiccup. "I'm Freddy Fotherby. I…um, I teach International Magic."

"Oh, exotic!" Lavinia cooed.

"Jacqueline," the little witch supplied. "We've heard a lot about you, Freddy. Didn't know when we'd see you, though."

"Or if we would see you at all," Lavinia noted.

The other witches in the group nodded gravely.

Freddy felt a chill crawl up her spine and she coughed into her hand. Were all the patients so morbid?

"Glad I could make it," she said, realizing how absurd she sounded.

"I hope you know how famous you are," Lavinia put in. Her smile was dazzling, but her posture conveyed a certain air of cattiness.

Freddy's shoulders slumped. "I'd rather not be."

"Crane never performs pneumonectomies. And he simply loves you!"

"But, what about me?" One of the witches, who had been sitting off to the side, frowned indignantly. "I'm the only one here with TB of the spine and Crane absolutely _adores_ me." And suddenly, she pulled up her pajama top, revealing a back brace that held her stiffly upright. "Lungs are so very _boring_, a dime a dozen."

"You can keep your crooked spine, Gracie," Jacqueline quipped. Glancing at Freddy, she explained, "I didn't know I had TB until my first hemorrhage. My Healer told me it was bronchitis, and when I didn't respond to treatment, he switched my diagnosis to whooping cough. Healer Crane says I'll have to be here for six months. Can you imagine?"

"Uh…" Freddy began, but she was swiftly cut off by Lavinia.

"I only have a spot of TB," she said, examining her lacquered fingernails. "Nothing to be bothered by. Crane hardly gives me any attention!" She sounded almost like she was complaining.

Freddy shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Perhaps she could still slip away to the jigsaw puzzle. "I thought we weren't supposed to talk about our illnesses," she said sheepishly. And it was true. The sanatorium's pamphlet espoused the benefits of a positive attitude for all patients. Complaining, if possible, was supposed to be kept to a minimum.

The other witches looked at Freddy strangely, but surprisingly, Lavinia agreed with her.

"You _are_ right, Professor," she said, shooting a look of warning at the grumbling Jacqueline. "Don't mind us; we're very predictable old hens. Let us talk of something else. Girls?"

Gracie, who had been staring glumly at her fluffy slippers, immediately perked up. "How often do you see Healer Crane, Freddy?" she asked.

_Crane_. Freddy sighed. She'd rather not talk about Crane either, to be honest. It was times like this that she really missed Remus Lupin. His visits, while regular, were not enough to keep her socially content. She had never been one for company, although now loneliness had become an entirely different entity, something that was dark and hungry and relentless.

But despite her unfortunate solitude, she was utterly repulsed by these women.

"Once a day, I suppose," she said.

Her reply provoked mass hysteria amongst the group…or so it seemed to Freddy. The women were downright indignant, including Lavinia, who had suddenly lost her sleekness by becoming angry.

"I only see him once a week!" Jacqueline huffed.

Lavinia jutted her sharp chin out, taking Freddy's measure. "Do you know what they say, Professor…on the wards that is. Do you know what they say?"

_I couldn't give a damn_, Freddy thought viciously, but she offered Lavinia calm curiosity. "What do they say?"

"They say that you are Crane's favorite patient."

"I think it's true!" Gracie whined.

"What does it matter?" Freddy snapped, feeling unjustly harassed.

For a moment, she thought the women had been quieted by her sudden sternness. They all dropped their eyes and blushed. Lavinia fiddled with the silk sash on her robe.

A hand touched Freddy's shoulder and she jumped.

"Good afternoon, ladies," Crane said politely.

He was standing behind her chair, his white robes smelling of expensive cologne. Freddy wasn't sure if she should feel relieved for his interruption, or disturbed. Either way, she wished he would remove his hand from _her_ shoulder.

"Oh, Healer Crane!" Gracie was squirming about despite the added weight of her back brace, "We've met the professor. She's delightful!"

"Finally, some decent conversation around here," Lavinia said, her curled lashes drooping over her blue eyes. "We're glad you finally let her come to the solarium."

Crane laughed and dropped his hand from Freddy's shoulder. "It's nice to see my patients enjoying themselves for once. And what about you, Freddy?" He gazed at her. "Does the rest of the sanatorium live up its reputation."

Freddy looked from him to the women. _Harpies_, she thought bitterly. _God, I hate this wretched place_.

"I suppose," she said lamely. And then, she promptly coughed into the sleeve of her robe. "But I'm quite tired, as is. I think I ought to be getting back to my room now."

She tried to rise from her chair, but Crane was standing close, _too close_ to her chair.

"I'm heading up to the Intensive Care Ward myself," he put in with an Adonis smile. "I'll walk with you, if you'd like."

"Umm." Freddy folded her arms across her scarred chest, shrugging. How could she possibly get out of this?

Lavinia, however, was more quick-witted.

"I'll come with you both!" she said, standing with fluid grace, her lovely robe billowing out behind her in a wave of beige silk. "Freddy was going to show me some of her books. I never took International Magic myself. It all sounds so fascinating!"

_Like hell it does_. Freddy wanted to crawl away under a rock somewhere. Why couldn't she just be left alone? Why? Why? Why?

Biting her lip, she scooted around her chair and followed Crane out of the solarium. Lavinia was right on her heels and she actually jockeyed for a position next to the healer once they were out in the hall.

"Have you had your temperature taken today?" Crane asked Freddy as they waited for the lift.

She scratched her nose, if only to disguise her darkening frown. "Probably…yeah, I think so."

"You're looking flushed," he continued, holding out a hand to touch her forehead.

His palm was chilly against her skin.

She pulled away from him, nearly colliding with a passing orderly. "I feel fine."

Crane gazed at her thoughtfully, unaware that Lavinia was pouting behind his back. "I'll tell Nurse Jenkins to bring you a thermometer as soon as we get upstairs."

And, as if on cue, the lift doors slid upon with a shrill _ding!_

Once inside, Freddy found herself an unwilling bookend as Lavinia sandwiched Crane between them.

"How is your husband, Mrs. Wainwright?" he asked her.

Freddy raised a brow. Lavinia was married?

The woman seemed overly eager to forget the fact. "Same as always," she said, waving a manicured hand.

"Will he be coming this Sunday?"

Lavinia's lips puckered, "I told him not to. He's been awfully busy at the shop. I hope he takes a weekend off."

Crane rubbed his smooth chin. "That's awfully nice of you," he said, making Lavinia beam. "But I'm sure that you must miss him."

She did not reply.

Freddy was beyond relieved when they reached the Intensive Care Ward. She was hoping Crane would let her go off to her room and maybe, just maybe, Lavinia would forget to follow her.

Unfortunately, both her companions were set on seeing her directly to her door. Along the way, Lavinia chattered constantly with Healer Crane. She asked him if he would be coming to solarium after dinner and if he would join them for songs around the piano.

He, however, turned his attention to Freddy.

"Perhaps you would like to join the rest of the patients after dinner," he said. "We have some talented musicians here. Do you play an instrument?"

Freddy stared at her feet. "I thought I wasn't supposed to leave my room," she replied.

Crane's eyes widened and for a moment, he looked like a deer caught in the headlights.

_He's caught himself, _she thought. _No more bending the rules for a favorite patient._

"Well," he said after an unbearably long pause. "We'll see how you do."

"Yeah." Freddy was thrilled to reach her room and she darted inside, "Thanks. I'll see you later."

Crane could linger no longer. After a quick goodbye, he headed off to start his rounds.

Lavinia stood on the threshold and watched him go. When he was out of earshot, she turned to Freddy with a truly frightening scowl.

"I don't know why he likes _you_ so much," she simpered, turning on her heel and heading back down the hall.

Freddy lay on her bed, stuffing a pillow between her teeth. Taking as deep of a breath as she could manage, she screamed with all her might.


	4. Chapter Four Resignations

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Rowling's work. However, all OCs mentioned herein belong to me.

**Medical Disclaimer:** Much of this story revolves around the infectious disease, tuberculosis and its treatment. The methods I have described in this story are a mixture of both modern regimens and outdated procedures from the heyday of the sanatorium. For the purpose of this story, the main character contracts and suffers from a strain of multi-drug resistant tuberculosis found only in "wizards", therefore, her experience may differ from the experience of a "muggle" with the same disease. Finally, I am not a physician. My statements regarding tuberculosis, although thoroughly researched, should not be taken as actual medical facts.

_Cast List:_

_Forbia "Freddy" Fotherby - Melanie Lynskey _

_Healer Calum Crane - Peter Facinelli _

_Nurse Jenkins - Samantha Morton _

_Remus Lupin - James D'Arcy _

_Lavinia Wainwright - Naomi Watts _

_Professor Trelawney - Emma Thompson_

_Professor McGonagall - Maggie Smith _

**

* * *

**

**Chapter Four Resignations **

The coming of summer offered a sweet promise of hope for Freddy. From her room's window, she could see the sanatorium grounds turn a healthy shade of green, or the moors beyond, waxing violet and red with heather. It often rained and if she kept her window open at night, the droplets would carry with them the faint scent of flowers. Rumor had it that the tiny village, some five miles away, had gone all out this year for May Day.

Freddy was reminded of a May Day she had spent in Germany several years ago. The Walpurgisnacht celebration included the traditional lighting of bonfires and may pole dancing. She still an album of photographs she had managed to snap that night, one of which was published along with an article that detailed the wizarding origins of Saint Walpurga.

The trip to the Rhineland was one of her favorites, although now she found herself indulging in melancholy, wishing she could give wing to her memories and fly away abroad.

But things weren't too bad now. Not too ghastly, as Crane had said during his last examination. She'd shown some improvement in her pulmonary function tests and he was confident that the latest round of prescribed antibiotics would start to clean up her right lung.

Freddy was pleased to have some good news for once, but she was more pleased when she received a letter from Sibyl Trelawney the last week in May. Her Inner Eye was being most vocal, suggesting that she visit Freddy during the first weekend in June, when the stars were kindly arranged and her aura was at its strongest.

And, much as Freddy had expected, Trelawney came sweeping into her room a day early.

"Were you expecting me?" she asked, kissing her favorite former pupil on the cheek and squeezing her hand tightly.

Freddy winced slightly as Trelawney's heavy rings cut into her knuckles. "Of course. You always show up early. I should know. See, I even had the nurse bring in an extra chair and some tea for you."

Trelawney beamed, tossing her pastel colored wrap over her shoulder with the mien of a Russian Empress. "Dear Forbia, I see your Eye is in excellent condition after all. I was a bit worried, you know, all this talk of medicine…_antibiotics_ and what-not." She sniffed, noticing a series of corked bottles on Freddy's nightstand. "I see you're following instructions, for once."

"Only because I absolutely have to," Freddy said, leaning back against her propped up pillows. She felt somewhat strange receiving Trelawney while she was in bed, but the solarium was awfully crowded at this hour and she didn't need Lavinia Wainwright and her coterie eavesdropping. "You know how I feel about rules."

"Well," Trelawney sat and turned her attention to the small tea tray the nurse had left on the bureau, "we don't need you rebelling right now. Tuberculosis is serious enough."

"Yeah," Freddy replied with a snort, her fingers automatically touching the long, thin scar on her chest.

_Only one lung left._

"I've missed school terribly," she continued with a cough. "I didn't think I would. It's a surprise. Has Dumbledore replaced me yet?"

Trelawney looked up from a crumpet she was buttering. "Replace is such a harsh word," she said. "The Headmaster is merely looking for a substitute to take your place until you return to us…which will be soon, I'm sure."

"Who is he interviewing?" Freddy pressed. She was eager to size-up her competition, even if it was from afar. There was something particularly pathetic about concerning herself over her job…something she had little to no control over. Unfortunately for her, she hadn't exactly been the best Professor of International Magic, having only really connected with a handful of her students over the years.

Dumbledore and McGonagall, however, thought her methods were effective and she had taught the course at Hogwarts for five years…well, four and half, actually.

"Have some tea," Trelawney insisted, her eyes widening slightly behind her glittery spectacles.

Freddy accepted a cup from her (the china was an awful uniform white and on the bottom of the cup, _Yorkshire Wizarding Sanatorium for Consumptives _was inscribed in block letters) but did not drink. "I want to know who he's interviewing. Please, mollify me."

"You have completely lost your talent for conversation," Trelawney remarked, waving a sugar spoon at her. "I thought you'd simply be happy to see me."

Freddy blushed. It was true. She had become a horrible grouch lately. "Sorry," she said softly. "I haven't talked to anyone in a while. The other patients are so nosy. And Healer Crane makes me nervous."

"Hmm," Trelawney sipped her breakfast tea. "I've sensed his aura from afar. It's positively radiant!"

"Well, he _is_ good looking."

"Pretty is as pretty does."

Freddy gaped at her, thrilled by her common sense. It was most welcome in an often unpleasant environment. "Yeah, you're right," she mumbled. "Pretty is as pretty does."

"You don't like him?" Trelawney asked. Her face was slightly pinched, inquisitive.

Freddy tasted her tea to disguise her thoughtful frown. "I'd rather not talk about him. It's boring to rehash the same old things."

"Fine, then we'll discuss your Inner Eye. Have you been doing any exercises? Have you been trying to sharpen your Sight?"

_Out of the frying pan and into the fire_, Freddy thought with a wry smile. Leave it to Trelawney to bring up the matter of her rather bothersome…ability.

She was still struggling to accept her second sight, which had become all the more evident in the months preceding her admission to the sanatorium. For many long weeks, she had suffered from prophetic dreams (_nightmares_), which, she assumed, was her subconscious attempting to warn her of her illness. In hindsight, the signs were perfectly clear to her. If she hadn't misinterpreted them, she may have never had to come to the sanatorium in the first place.

Freddy decided not argue with Trelawney now. She had been right, after all, about her Sight.

"I want to show you something," she said, setting her tea cup down next to the medicine bottles on her nightstand.

Trelawney adjusted her spectacles, the left side of her mouth hitching up in a curious smile. "I had so hoped you would reconsider your talent, Forbia! Though I must say, I knew you would. I took it upon myself to do a little crystal gazing before I came."

"I don't doubt that." Freddy coughed into her sleeve as she turned around in bed, bringing her knees under her. In looking over the headboard, she had a clear view of the sanatorium grounds and the chalk road that threaded down from the hospital towards the village. "Remember my dreams? The rundown town with empty shop windows and weed infested streets? Well, you can see it from here." She pointed out several faint dots on the horizon and a thin spire which rose from the countryside to rupture the hazy, early summer sky.

"Remarkable," Trelawney said, sticking her head out the window and squinting.

"It's like looking into a mirror," Freddy replied, "a mirror of my dreams, anyway. God, that sounds so corny, but you know what I mean. I knew this place long before I ever set foot in the sanatorium."

Trelawney's smile was somewhat watery. "Wait until Minerva hears that I was right about you. She never believed in your Sight."

"Oh please, don't tell her!" Freddy felt herself flush. Her knees weakened, and she landed on her bottom in the middle of the bed. The medicine bottles on her nightstand rattled musically.

"If you are to embrace your Sight, you must accept it fully."

Freddy gathered the starched blankets about her. She had enough to worry about now without being bothered by the influence of her "Sight". So far, it had caused her nothing but trouble and more than enough heartache. And what good was it if she could only foresee the bad things in life? Her father's death…her sickness…

She shook her head. "There's a graveyard as well."

"Pardon?" Trelawney was sitting once more, her fluttery hands folded neatly on her lap.

"There's a graveyard…in the village. I heard the other patients talking about it. The sanatorium buries all the unclaimed bodies there."

Trelawney hesitated, refusing to meet her eye. After a moment of terrible silence, she said, "The Headmaster is interviewing a very pleasant Swedish man to act as your substitute. There is also an American woman, but I don't like her so much. She's very…flippant."

Freddy tried to laugh, but the sound was strangled by a cough. "Sweden is a lovely country."

Trelawney tossed her head distractedly, playing with her shawl. "And I don't know if you've read the papers, but Sirius Black was nearly apprehended on the grounds of Hogwarts Castle two days ago."

"What?" Freddy's hands fisted in the bed sheets. Truth be told, she had quite forgotten that Sirius Black was on the loose. Any news of the outside world she received was usually belated and misconstrued, anyway.

Trelawney gazed at her over her spectacles, looking uncommonly stern. "Also, you ought to know, dear Remus Lupin resigned from his post yesterday."

* * *

Freddy could have strangled Trelawney. _Honestly_. The dotty old professor was a cherished friend and mentor of hers, but sometimes, she seemed capable of driving any sensible person mad.

Take Minerva McGonagall, for instance. When the Deputy Headmistress showed up at the sanatorium unexpectedly the next evening, she was slightly perturbed to say the least.

Freddy, who had been anxiously pacing in the empty solarium, (she had learned to go for her walks when the rest of the patients were at dinner) was thrilled to see her.

"I swear, I'm going crazy!" she said, throwing up her arms as soon as McGonagall was shown into the solarium by an orderly. "Sibyl didn't tell me anything. Well, no, that's not true. She told me just enough and then left. What the hell happened?"

McGonagall wearily removed her traveling cloak and rested it across the back of a lounge chair. It seemed as though every one of her seventy years was pressing down upon her as she tried to smile.

Freddy offered her a seat by one of the big windows, feeling ill-equipped to withhold her many questions.

"Leave it to Sibyl Trelawney to make such a mess," McGonagall replied after she had caught her breath. "I told her not to say anything. Look at you, you're positively feverish."

"That's nothing new," Freddy grumbled. "But Lupin quit! Why? Why would he do that?"

McGonagall held up her hand for silence and Freddy suddenly felt as though she were a young girl in Transfiguration class again.

"I hate to say this," the old professor said, "but I didn't really have the time to visit you just now. The school is in a bit of an uproar, as you can imagine. We had Sirius Black for a guest just two nights ago."

"See what happens when I leave," Freddy said, trying for humor, but failing miserably. "Things fall apart."

McGonagall raised a grey brow, her lips twitching. "Whatever the cause, we had quite the crisis on our hands. Professor Snape did manage to apprehend Black before he did any harm to the students, but-"

"He escaped again? Bloody hell, that man is _insane_."

Again, McGonagall's lips twitched. Freddy had the sense that she was withholding some information, but decided not to press her. She was grateful for the visit and more than pleased with her old professor's company. The last thing she wanted was to drive McGonagall away before learning what details she could.

"Yes, well, we were incredibly lucky," she continued. "Though I'm certain the _Prophet_ summarizes the events better. Here, I brought you a copy." McGonagall reached into her robes and produced the paper.

Freddy took it with a polite 'thank you'. She was still, however, unsatisfied.

"Now what of Lupin?"

McGonagall pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. "Forbia, you are a friend of his, are you not?"

Freddy hesitated for a moment, trying to decide whether or not she was being asked an intimate question.

But what was so intimate about being friends? Nothing, really, except Freddy wasn't used to having them.

McGonagall seemed to sense her confusion. She dropped her hand back onto her lap and offered the younger woman a tight, half-smile. In the twisted shadows of twilight, her face appeared as creased as a crumpled piece of parchment. "He has visited you, yes?"

"Yeah." Freddy tucked her fingers under her knees, tensing slightly. "It was very kind of him."

"Has Remus ever spoken to you of his…peculiar problem?"

Freddy inhaled sharply. "Oh…that. I know he's a werewolf, if that's what you mean. In fact, we're rather fond of the allegory, TB versus lycanthropy. It's very-"

"Remus neglected to take his Wolfsbane Potion during the last full moon. He was loose on the grounds and a danger to the students."

And for some reason, Freddy's heart sank. She stared at McGonagall for a moment, her pity for Remus soon giving way to a strange sort of satisfaction.

_Now he knows what it feels like_, she thought, _to be a danger to your own students._

At least she wasn't entirely alone in her predicament.

"Did Dumbledore let him go?" she asked pointedly.

McGonagall shook her head, her sharp chin raised. "No. Remus resigned."

"More than I ever did," Freddy replied. "But he does seem to the gracious type. Pity."

For once, the emptiness of the solarium made it more daunting than when it was filled with gossiping patients. She rested her chin on her open palm. From somewhere deep within the sanatorium, a hum and a whisper issued forth from the crowded dining room.

McGonagall stared into the growing shadows. Freddy thought she looked absolutely exhausted.

"You see what this place does to people," she told the older woman. "Turns us into creatures."

"Creatures?" McGonagall lifted both her brows this time.

"Starving creatures," Freddy replied. "We prowl about like scavengers, searching for signs of life, or what remains of it." She smoothed the copy of the _Prophet_ out on her knees. Sirius Black leered back up at her.

McGonagall looked at her sternly.

Freddy twisted her mouth into a frown. " It's hard to explain," she said, "but I think I would do anything not to be a patient here."

"Sibyl said you were rather melancholy," McGonagall muttered tersely. "For once she was right."

Freddy rubbed her fingers together, feeling the last of the early summer warmth leave the room.

She was so cold sometimes.

"Poor Remus," she muttered. "He really seemed to be enjoying his time at Hogwarts. It makes me feel guilty, almost. I'll have the chance to go back to teaching…he won't."

McGonagall, she noticed, was looking at her carefully. "I can see why he thinks highly of you, Forbia. You've become very sensitive, empathetic."

"Bah." Freddy covered her cough with her palm. "Not really. I think I've just had more time to think about things." _But Lupin thinks highly of me, _she wondered to herself_, how odd!_

"Have you been thinking about Quirrell?" McGonagall ventured mildly. The light from the lamps on the walls reflected off her spectacles, giving her an owlish appearance.

Freddy folded her arms across her middle, hunching forward. "Of course. But it's not as bad as it was at Hogwarts. I've had other things on my mind."

McGonagall nodded in response. "I suppose it's natural, in a place like this."

"A place like this," Freddy echoed. She thought of Lupin, alone, unemployed, but free. If she was in his shoes, she would have headed straight off to the Continent or the United States. And she would have enjoyed life, no matter what…

"I have something else for you," McGonagall said. She was fishing through her robes once more. "It is the reason I came, actually. Remus asked me to deliver it when I visited and I couldn't stand to have it lying unopened on my desk. You know how I feel about tardy mail."

At length, she produced a folded piece of parchment sealed with plain red wax and the standard Hogwarts coat of arms all the staff used for their official correspondence.

"Did he say what it was about?" Freddy asked, taking the note from her.

McGonagall shrugged, rising to her feet and stretching with all the elegance of a sinewy feline. "No," she replied with a deepening frown. "I try not to pry into other people's business, however difficult that may seem."


	5. Chapter Five Reprise

**Disclaimer: **I claim no ownership of Rowling's work. However, all OCs mentioned herein belong to me.

_Cast List:_

_Forbia "Freddy" Fotherby - Melanie Lynskey_

_Healer Calum Crane - Peter Facinelli_

_Remus Lupin - James D'Arcy_

_Slatero Quirrell - Simon Woods_

_Minerva McGonagall - Maggie Smith_

_Sibyl Trelawney - Emma Thompson_

_Nurse Jenkins - Samantha Morton_

_Lavinia Wainwright - Naomi Watts_

**Chapter Five Reprise**

_Dearest Freddy,_

_I regret to inform you that I have resigned my position as professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts. Goodness, that sounds so awfully formal…almost like a death certificate. And I'm certain you've had your fill of those lately. Haha. See, I haven't lost my morbid sense of humor yet. I trust you haven't either._

_I'm sure McGonagall has related all the gritty details to you already. I would have told you myself, but as you can imagine, I haven't had time for social niceties lately. _

_Yes, I left Hogwarts of my own accord. I simply couldn't stay there and teach while knowing that I had violated my promise as a professor by endangering the students. It was a difficult decision, as I was in need of the tidy income, but I think I did the right thing. I'm sure you'll agree…or rake me over the coals for it. _

_It saddens me to know that we will no longer be colleagues, but I do hope we can remain friends. If it is all right with you, I would like to continue to drop by the sanatorium. We make a good pair the two of us…the walking wounded. _

_I hope you aren't too cross with me for running off like this. Though, I know you probably have a greater understanding of my situation than, perhaps, anyone else._

_If you agree, I will come and see you sometime next week. Until then, I remain…_

_Your friend,_

_Remus J. Lupin_

"Well that's that, I suppose," Freddy muttered to herself. She was sitting cross-legged on her bed with Lupin's letter resting in her lap. It was roughly a quarter after nine in the evening and the nurses were making their last rounds before it was time for the lights to be put out.

Unfortunately, Freddy wasn't feeling the least bit tired.

Ever since McGonagall had left two hours ago, she had spent her time going over Lupin's note and the copy of the _Prophet_. A part of her was darkly curious about the excitement of Sirius Black's near capture. She was missing a lot of life, being secluded in the sanatorium. And even charming Healer Crane couldn't make up for that.

Now Lupin was gone, just when she was starting to like him as a colleague and, yes, a friend. He promised to still visit her, but things wouldn't be the same. She had gotten used to the idea of him having Quirrell's old job and she thought he did the position honor.

Slatero himself couldn't have asked for a better, more dedicated replacement.

Freddy folded the note over with a scowl. She felt so very helpless here. Perhaps, if she had still been teaching, she might have been able to convince Lupin not to quit. And she would have tried, yes, she would have tried.

As she was slipping the note back into the drawer of her nightstand, Nurse Jenkins swept into the room, carrying a plastic medicine tray.

"Here's your last dose for tonight, professor," she said, handing Freddy a little paper cup filled with three pills. "You're up late. Having trouble sleeping?"

"A quarter after nine is late?" Freddy said as she popped the pills into her mouth. Jenkins handed her a second paper cup with water.

"You're usually ready for bed at this time," the nurse replied, gesturing at her undisturbed blankets. "Feeling any better?"

"I suppose," Freddy said after she had swallowed the medicine. One pill nearly got stuck in her throat and she coughed quietly to dislodge it. "I've had some news from Hogwarts and it's kept me up."

"Bad news?" Jenkins asked distractedly. She had set about straightening up the bottles on Freddy's nightstand. "You had two visitors this weekend. Weren't they professors as well?"

"Yes." Reluctantly, Freddy crawled underneath her sheets and laid back. "They are old friends."

Jenkins balanced her now empty tray on her hip. "And what about that other professor? That nice fellow. You're lucky to have visitors. Most patients don't get them at all."

_Or don't want them_, Freddy thought, remembering Lavinia's poor attempt to try and talk her husband out of a visit.

"Yes," she repeated. "He's a friend too."

"Lucky, like I said," Jenkins replied. She turned off the lamp on her way out. "Good night, professor."

"Night," Freddy mumbled. She had already rolled over onto her right side (her good side, as Crane put it) and shut her eyes.

_I suppose Lupin is my friend_, she thought, her fingers curling against her pillowcase. A stiff breeze poured into her room through the window, which was kept open all night to better promote the fresh air treatment. _Perhaps that's why I feel so bad for him. It's easier to be sick like this when you have someone else in the same boat. Though not like Lavinia and her lot. I wouldn't want to be in the same boat with them, even I was drowning. God, I hate the water. Imagine falling off a bridge…falling, falling, falling._

She recognized the cemetery gates this time. They were rusty, but still stately in a way. Scabs of black paint stuck to the spear-like posts and the fence itself was skeletal against the green lawn.

Freddy wondered, vaguely, if this was a trance and not a dream. Only truly powerful Seers could enter this state at will and she had never considered herself particularly talented, although Trelawney seemed to disagree.

From what remembered of her divination lesson years ago, a trance had to be entered at will by opening up the mind. Unlike a dream, or a nightmare, rather, a trance could be avoided if the Seer focused his or her thoughts on reality. Something as simple as listening to one's heartbeat would do, but Freddy wasn't sure if wanted to abandon the experience just yet.

Instead, she let herself through the cemetery gates.

"I wonder if I managed to do this all on my own," she mused out loud, picking her way through the cloud-colored tombstones. Long shades, cast at the tips of the setting sun, rested in the alcoves of the mausoleums. The sky above was a rather sickly shade of yellow, somewhat akin to the color of sputum.

"You, my dear, are becoming warped," a playful voice chirped from somewhere nearby.

Freddy glanced over her shoulder.

He was waiting for her, as she had hoped he would be.

Freddy held out her hand and let him squeeze it in greeting. "Hullo, Slatero. Fancy seeing you here."

Quirrell laughed with all the giddiness of a young boy. And, in truth, Freddy supposed he was a young boy…robbed of his gentle innocence by darkness.

She still loved him, although her love had evolved from the restlessness of howling grief, to a soft, nostalgic affection. Paradoxically, falling ill had provided her with opportunities to heal in other ways.

Quirrell seemed to realize this. "I'm very proud of you," he told her, his smile bordering on cheeky. "You've been quite brave about all this."

Freddy shrugged. "It isn't like I have a choice."

He wrinkled his nose. "Don't sell yourself short. You have a horrid habit of doing that."

"I'm trying," she assured him, slinging one arm around his shoulders. It was good to be near him again and with muted sadness, she remembered that they would never have a life together, only snatches of dreams and memories.

How fitting then, that they should be standing in a cemetery. The air was thick with a mossy scent, close and breathless. Freddy inhaled and for a moment, enjoyed the fantasy of clean lungs.

"Why am I here?" she asked him.

Quirrell's discerning brown eyes widened with understanding. "You've become rather astute at this."

"Trelawney said I should practice more. What for it, eh?"

Together, the leaned against the marble wall of a mausoleum. Freddy traced the patterns of grey with her fingers.

"What is it you want to know?" he asked her at length.

Freddy was surprised by his forwardness. "I don't know. My life is insanely boring right now. I haven't given much thought to-"

Quirrell dipped his chin, his expression turning skeptical.

Freddy chuckled. "All right then. Ummm, how about Lupin? Yes, I'd like to know about him."

"You have to be more specific."

"Well, he told me why he quit his job at Hogwarts, but I have the feeling that he's keeping something from me."

Quirrell propped his elbow against the mausoleum door. "Possibly. But nothing that would affect your relationship with him."

"Relationship? I don't have a relationship with him."

"He's your friend," Quirrell replied pointedly. "And you need to accept that. Being prickly won't get you very far."

"Thanks for the lecture." She rolled her eyes. "What am I supposed to do with him though?"

"Let him come to see you. It's perfectly acceptable. You're not betraying me in anyway."

"What does this have to do with betrayal?" Freddy asked, straightening up off the cold wall.

Quirrell wouldn't answer. He only smiled.

Freddy wanted to be annoyed with him, but somehow, couldn't summon up the strength. She couldn't even manage to feel defeated. A sense of neutrality had overtaken her, leaving her adrift in an ocean of indifference.

"Very well," she replied. "If you can't tell me anything else about Lupin, then I want to know about the sanatorium."

Quirrell's face tightened slightly. "You've done very well in adapting to it."

"Again, I had no choice."

"I'm surprised you want to talk about it." He shifted, dropping his elbow and pressing his shoulder to the mausoleum instead. "What do you want to know?"

Freddy hesitated. She didn't think she possessed the ability to properly explain how she felt about the sanatorium, with its narrow halls, heath-strewn grounds, and echoes that chased her every night. Any words would be a poor substitute for her half-formed impressions. Frustrated, she waved a hand.

"I guess I want to know why the sanatorium is a part of my life…no, wait. That's not what I mean." She paused and shook her head. "Umm, maybe…maybe I want to know why I feel as though the sanatorium has always been part of my life, almost as if it was hidden, but there."

Quirrell appeared pleased with her question and he squeezed her shoulder confidently. "Very good! Well, that's because the sanatorium has always been part of your life."

"But I don't want it to be."

"Let me finish." He held up a pacifying hand. "Whether you like it or not, coming to the sanatorium is a major event in your time here. You sensed it, heard _echoes_ of it throughout your life. The same goes for our relationship. Your job at Hogwarts. And Healer Crane, of course."

Freddy started, feeling as though she had been jolted out of kind reverie into harsh reality. "What do you mean about Crane?"

He looked askance. "We can't talk about that yet."

"Why not?"

"You have to be patient."

"Slatero, please," she begged him.

Quirrell seemed about to say something, but was cut off by a smooth, coquettish voice. It slipped into the cemetery, quite at home, and disrupted their perfect congress.

Freddy already felt herself stirring towards wakefulness. In desperation, she reached forward, trying in vain to touch Quirrell, to keep him with her.

"I only want to know," she cried, pushed by apprehension to be truthful, "about Healer Crane!"

But then he was gone and only the winsome voice remained, singing…

_We lay, my love and I, beneath the weeping willow_

_But now alone I lie and weep beside the tree. [1]  
_

* * *

She awoke suddenly, sitting upright in bed like a mad woman startled by her own nightmares. The window above her head was still open, arousing rare superstition within her. Freddy imagined that all the restless spirits tramping about the grounds were now drifting into her room.

But of course not. She was being silly.

Pressing her knuckles to her forehead, she tried to ward off the tell-tale ache in her temples. Outside her room, an orderly tip-toed by, disappearing down the dimly lit hall. The clock by the nurse's station chimed the hour.

It was only eleven.

Try as she might, Freddy knew she wouldn't be able to go back to sleep. It was impossible now that her nerves were thoroughly stirred and she couldn't help but think of that last look on Quirrell's face. He had wanted to say something but couldn't. It was that voice, that damnable voice…

_Singing 'Oh willow waly' by the tree that weeps with me_

_Singing 'Oh willow waly' till my lover returns to me. [2]_

Freddy's hands clenched over the sheets. She certainly wasn't dreaming now, was she?

No.

The lilting voice was real enough and it was coming from somewhere nearby…or below. Yes, somewhere on the floor below. She was sure of it. The sound must be coming up through the vents, directly into her room.

What was downstairs? The X-Ray Department? The lab?

Freddy wasn't sure, but she did know that she couldn't stand to spend another sleepless minute alone in her room. Patients weren't supposed to be out of their beds after nine-thirty, unless it was an emergency.

But what did that matter? If she ran into a nurse, she could pretend to be delirious with fever. That would be a laugh. And she needed a good laugh.

Slipping from underneath the sticky sheets, she grabbed her robe and threw it over her shoulders. Her door was still open (which was routine in the Intensive Care Ward in case the nurses had to get in and out quickly) and Freddy was able to slip out unnoticed, down the back staircase the orderlies used when the lift was too crowded.

The lamps by the stairs were kept burning brightly throughout the night, and she found herself squinting, trying to adjust her sight to the glare.

Despite this, it really was a pleasure to get out of her room unescorted. She knew she had less of a chance of running into any patients, which was indeed a blessing. And being a perpetual wander, she was glad to have use of her feet once more, no matter where they took her.

Curiosity got the better of Freddy and she decided to trace the music as far as she could. Maybe one of the patients had a radio in his or her room? Possibly. Although she would have expected the nurse to turn it off before bed.

Unless it was a rogue nurse with the radio, than that would be a different matter entirely.

Freddy descended a flight of stairs until she came to a landing on the third floor. The hallway beyond was dark, save for a single light which crept under a door.

And the voice. She could still hear the voice.

_Singing 'Oh willow waly' by the tree that weeps with me_

_Singing 'Oh willow waly' till my lover returns to me. [3]_

It was an appropriately haunting song, she thought. Slightly morbid and all too welcome in this ghastly hospital. She, herself, had never been one to indulge in morbidity, unlike the other patients. Perhaps it gave them relief, she reasoned, to neutralize their illness.

Or perhaps they were all a bunch of masochists.

Freddy stepped fully into the darkened corridor, holding the door open so that it wouldn't creak. But it was heavier than she expected and in leaning forward, she took the necessary pressure off her hand.

The door slammed closed behind her.

_Dammit._

Shuffling followed. Shadows flitted across the slinking light. Someone stepped into the hall.

"Hello?"

He was standing in the light and Freddy could see him clearly.

Healer Crane.

_Lovely. Just bloody lovely._

She considered running for it. The dark would prevent him from seeing her face and making a positive identification, although she knew he would follow her. And then how would she explain herself?

Poorly.

_Now's the time to brave_, her conscience told her. _Come on, Freddy old girl. Buck up._

"I suppose I have no choice," she muttered out loud.

Crane took a step closer. "Freddy, is that you?"

At once, she was wringing her hands. "How did you know?"

"You have that distinct Scottish lilt." He was moving down the hall now. "I'd recognize it anywhere. Is something the matter?"

"Not at all," she said in a rush, aware that she sounded breathless. Even now, she could just picture Crane's patented concerned frown, the one that Lavinia Wainwright apparently found sexy.

"It's past eleven," the healer continued. "Patients are restricted to their rooms after nine-thirty. What are you doing out of bed?"

"Sleep walking?" Freddy offered with a bashful shrug. Crane was close to her now, about a foot away and she noticed his shoulders shaking with silent laughter. "Honestly, I don't know. I have a tendency to wander…it's sort of my thing."

"Well, you must be feeling better," he commented, one hand reaching out toward her empathetically. "I don't recall you being so eager to break the rules when you first came here."

Freddy wrapped her arms around her middle, deftly tying the belt of her robe. She didn't know what to say to Crane. An apology seemed in order, although he hadn't demanded one…yet.

The awkward silence between them was punctured by the same wispy, singing voice.

_Willow…willow…willow_.

The word was intoned mindlessly until it sounded like gibberish. Crane turned on his heel. "That'll be my record skipping," he explained and headed back down the hall.

Without thinking, Freddy took a step forward, intending to follow him. But then she thought of the cemetery and of the tombstones and was reminded of something Trelawney had said many, many years ago.

Freddy paused, dropped her arms to her sides and considered Crane's retreating form.

_I think I would do anything not to be a patient here._

Or so she had told McGonagall.

Crane was by the open door now, one hand resting on the frame. He glanced back at her.

"Are you coming, Freddy?"

"Yeah," she replied. "I'm coming."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Another chapter finished! I would like to especially thank everyone who has taken the time to read/review so far. You guys rock!

The next chapter is already written and should be posted soon. I hope you have a wonderful week!

_[1], [2], [3] were taken from the song "O Willow Waly" with lyrics by Paul Dehn, written for the film "The Innocents" (1961). _


	6. Chapter Six The Lady of Shalott

**Disclaimer:** I claim no ownership of Rowling's work. However, all OCs mentioned herein belong to me.

**Medical Disclaimer:** Much of this story revolves around the infectious disease, tuberculosis and its treatment. The methods I have described in this story are a mixture of both modern regimens and outdated procedures from the heyday of the sanatorium. For the purpose of this story, the main character contracts and suffers from a strain of multi-drug resistant tuberculosis found only in "wizards", therefore, her experience may differ from the experience of a "muggle" with the same disease. Finally, I am not a physician. My statements regarding tuberculosis, although thoroughly researched, should not be taken as actual medical facts.

_Cast List:_

___Forbia "Freddy" Fotherby - Melanie Lynskey _

_Healer Calum Crane - Peter Facinelli _

_Remus Lupin - James D'Arcy _

_Slatero Quirrell - Simon Woods _

_Minerva McGonagall - Maggie Smith _

_Sibyl Trelawney - Emma Thompson _

_Nurse Jenkins - Samantha Morton _

_Lavinia Wainwright - Naomi Watts_

**Chapter Six The Lady of Shalott **

Upon entering Crane's office, Freddy was greeted by a regal looking Irish Setter who lifted his head and thumped his red tail on the area rug. She immediately extended her hand and let the dog sniff it.

"Hullo, fellow."

Crane looked up from his record player. "I see you've already won Finn over. Do you like animals, Professor?"

Freddy scratched Finn's ears with a smile. "Yes. I grew up on a farm in the southern uplands. My father gave me a highland calf for my fifth birthday."

"And how does a Scottish farm girl end up becoming a world traveler?" Crane asked as he lifted the needle from his skipping record, plunging the room into silence.

Freddy shrugged in response. "I don't know. I never really thought about it."

Finn sighed loudly and rolled onto his back, exposing his pink belly.

"Oh, you're a darling, aren't you?" Freddy cooed as she knelt next to him on the floor.

Crane hovered over them. "Forgive my formality, but I'm going to have to ask what you were doing out of bed after nine thirty." He leaned back against his mahogany desk. Behind him, a dictating quill scribbled fluid letters over a patient's chart.

Freddy shrugged once more and concentrated on Finn's lolling tongue. "I was restless. Couldn't sleep. And I heard your music coming up from the vents."

"Sorry. Did it disturb you?"

"Not really. I was already awake."

"Are you having any pain? Coughing spasms?"

"No," she hesitated briefly, "nightmares."

Crane shifted his feet and Freddy caught sight of his polished, black leather shoes. Reluctantly, she straightened up and faced him.

"I always have nightmares. It's nothing new."

He frowned, his face drawn with concern. "If you need someone to talk to-"

"A shrink? No, it's nothing like that."

"That's not what I meant," Crane folded his arms, his clear eyes twinkling with a suppressed smile. "If you ever wanted to talk…you can come to see me, you know. Not to sound arrogant or anything, but I've been told that I'm a good listener."

Freddy felt her cheeks grow hot. "Yeah, thanks," she muttered, gazing past him at the wall behind his desk. It was taken up entirely by a dreamy painting of the Lady of Shalott reclining in her boat, silhouetted by the sunset.

Crane was indulgent when it came to art, she realized. He seemed to favor the work of the Pre-Raphaelites, images of classical sentimentality and sweeping romanticism.

She had never been sentimental herself, really, but found she had trouble avoiding the emotion now. Vague memories resonated in her mind, as beguiling and enigmatic as the music that had summoned her forth from her room.

"_And moving through a mirror clear, that hangs before her all the year, shadows of the world appear_," she muttered, quoting Tennyson. "It's like that…my dreams."

"Pardon?" Crane took a step nearer and Freddy felt his presence shadowing her.

She pulled her robe tighter over her shoulders. "Wasn't the Lady of Shalott a Seer?"

"I thought she was cursed," he replied, his voice taut with uncertainty. "Or at least, she suffered from a 'weird fate'."

The spell was close about them. Smothering. Freddy felt it growing into her chest, roaring through her scarred lung. It made her dizzy.

"Yeah," she laughed, breaking the enchantment, "whatever that means."

They were both quiet. Finn had fallen back to sleep on the hunter green rug, his tail tucked protectively around his haunches.

Freddy ripped her gaze away from the painting, half-remembered bits of her trance made her mind slow and hazy.

Quirrell's face. His lips. Had he be trying to tell her something? Or, had she refused to listen? She still smelled the heavy fragrance of the cemetery…the scent that cloyed her nostrils…

Crane was standing by her left shoulder now, his cologne fading away in wisps as the night deepened.

Freddy coughed, feeling her feet firmly planted in reality once more. The sanatorium. Four walls. One lung.

"You have a nice office," she said, noticing the masculine, dark wooded furniture and bronzed bookends. "It's almost out of place, you know, I wouldn't expect to find something so homey in an institution."

"Perhaps you would have preferred a crypt? Or some dark room cluttered with jars and weird objects floating in formaldehyde?" Crane appeared to thoroughly enjoy their banter and, as if by instinct, he loosened his tie.

Freddy, however, could never feel at ease in the sanatorium. "I don't know how you stand it," she remarked. "Doesn't this place get to you? Maybe it's easier if you're not a patient."

Crane leaned back easily against the arm of his chair. "I see what you mean, but it's hard for me to think of this hospital as an institution." He lowered his eyes and seemed to consider her query. "Before the sanatorium was opened, I was head of the tuberculosis department at St. Mungo's. There was such an overload of cases, though, and we didn't have enough isolation rooms to house contagious patients. When the Ministry approached me with an offer to run my own sanatorium in order to provide long-term treatment, well, it was such a blessing. I suppose that's why the morbidity and isolation of it all doesn't faze me. I feel very lucky to be doing this."

"You _are_ lucky then," Freddy replied, though she stopped herself from admitting how much she hated the sanatorium. "Maybe, I'm the morbid one. All that Poe and Dunsany I read as a child couldn't have been helpful."

Crane quirked a brow and Freddy realized she was rambling.

"Never mind me," she choked out awkwardly. "I'm not making much sense. I guess I have a lot on my mind."

He smiled generously. "That's understandable. Do you want to talk about it?"

_Yes! _She shook her head, driving away her first instinctual reaction. But in the end, she was shy.

"It's not really my business," she said offhandedly, fluttering her hands about. Accidentally, her fingers brushed the sleeve of his grey shirt. The fabric was cool. Her eyes trailed down to his rolled up sleeves, a light dusting of fair hair covering his forearms.

_I need to get out of here_. _Too close. Too close._

_Slatero, I cannot stand this. Why didn't you tell me?_

Crane was waiting patiently, his eyebrows slightly raised, his eyes intent.

"One of my friends," Freddy began unsteadily. "I think you've met him, umm, Professor Lupin. Yes, well, it's really unfortunate. He resigned from his post at Hogwarts. I just feel so bad for him…he's such a sweet man. A good man."

Crane seemed to hesitate, his white teeth dragging over his lower lip. "Was it unexpected?"

"Yes, very. He sent me a letter…honestly, I don't know what I'm going to say to him when I see him next. He should have kept-"

"Is he going to visit you again?" Crane slipped his hands into his pockets and let his shoulders drop. The space between them was rapidly shrinking.

Once more, Freddy remembered what she had told McGonagall earlier that evening.

_I think I would do anything not to be a patient here._

And there was the distinct possibility…

A nurse Freddy didn't recognize knocked briskly on the open door. "Excuse me, Healer Crane."

He half-turned, twisting his neck to look at the flushed woman. "Hello, Florence. What's the matter?"

"It's Ward B. We can't stop the hemorrhage. There's been a spontaneous pneumothorax."

Crane's face froze; his expression was somewhere between desperation and flagging control. "I'm coming. Run ahead and tell them to put in a chest tube." He glanced back at Freddy and for a second, she felt a flash of his panic, hidden to all but her. "Get back to bed, okay?"

"I promise," she began, but he was already rushing out the door.

* * *

When Freddy woke up the next morning, she felt as though the world was pressing down on her, keeping her pinned to her tiny bed. The sheets were soaked with sweat and a fine sheen of rain that had blown through her open window. Nurse Jenkins roused her at seven-thirty and made her sit in the chair by the bureau while the bed was stripped and fitted with new blankets.

Freddy watched the orderlies go about their work efficiently, piling damp sheets into laundry bags with indistinct frowns and tired eyes and silence - unfathomable, depthless, silence.

Something was wrong.

She picked at her breakfast of porridge and soggy toast, sipped at the tasteless tea. A headache gnawed at her temples and she felt hung over. Drunk.

Jenkins came with her pills soon after, the skin about her mouth puckered and lined.

"We're running a bit behind schedule this morning," the nurse said as she handed Freddy the paper cup of water. "Healer Crane will see you after lunch."

A steady rain pattered against the window panes. Freddy swallowed with some difficulty and crushed the cup between her fingers. The heat came on with a clatter and a bang, the iron radiator hissing in protest.

"Awfully damp out for June," she remarked.

Jenkins looked up from where she was fussily arranging the pair of shoes Freddy kept by her bureau. "The moors usually are, even in the summer."

"Something has happened. I know it."

Jenkins tossed her head, nearly dislodging her white cap which seemed to be sitting slightly askew atop her curls this morning. "You look tired, Professor. Get some rest. Take a nap."

"But I've just woken up-"

"Well, you should be able to go back to sleep with no trouble then." For some reason, Jenkins lingered by the door, looking down the hall.

"The dead sleep," Freddy replied blankly.

Jenkins exhaled. "Nonsense. You shouldn't talk about such things. It's against sanatorium policy."

Freddy didn't bother to respond. She was feeling awful, all bleary-eyed and useless. After Jenkins left, she grudgingly took the nurse's advice and laid in bed, half-dozing, half-dreaming.

Spirits walked the halls. Moaned and wept and danced with the wind as it tormented the moors. Grey light came in through the windows. Hazy. Hopeless. The hours dragged by. And in the bowels of the old building, some measure of restlessness stirred to life and threatened to drive her mad.

Freddy tried her best to distract herself. She read a little, but couldn't properly digest the words, which bounced off her brain like hail on stone. After a while, her mind began to wander and in its wandering, it settled itself on a most troublesome topic.

Freddy found herself thinking of Crane. She was starting to feel more at ease with him as the days went on…perhaps that was a bad thing. She couldn't afford to enjoy his company. Not now. It was forbidden her. This Adonis, this shining, incalculable Adonis who worked wonders in confusing her.

He was so handsome. Radiant…

_I think I would do anything not to be a patient here._

When was Lupin coming to visit?

The sound of metal wheels on a tile floor disturbed her. An orderly had entered her room with a wheelchair. Freddy sat up in bed, still groggy, and rubbed her eyes. The heaviness in the chest had ceded. She tried to take a deep breath, but only ended up coughing loudly.

"Is it time for my examination already?" she asked the young orderly.

He was a short, burly lad with small ears and clean, rosy skin.

"Yes, Professor. Healer Crane managed to squeeze you in before lunch. I have to get you down there in a hurry though. We're awfully backed up today."

"I suppose you won't tell me what happened last night?"

"Excuse me, Professor?" The orderly said, steadying the wheelchair as she climbed into it.

Freddy looked him in the eyes and for the first time in ages, let her mind reach out to him.

_Professor Snape always said I had potential as a Legilimens._

But at the last minute, she became frightened and withdrew, pulling away into the cold of her own thoughts.

The orderly blinked. "Are you ready, Professor? I do hope the lift isn't busy."

And he wheeled her out of her room and into the hall.

* * *

Despite the supposed hold-up, Crane was punctual as usual. Freddy had not been waiting for very long in the examining room before he came in, wearing his handsome pressed robes and a bright smile.

"You look reasonably awake," he said, pulling a stool up to the table she was perched on. "What time did you finally fall out last night?"

"Uh," Freddy hesitated, studying his smooth, pale face. His eyes looked slightly bruised. "Probably around one in the morning. You?"

Strangely, Crane ignored her question. He was busy flipping through her chart, running his finger along the scribbled notations. His class ring from Johns Hopkins flashed in the light from the overhead lamp.

"How have you been with the regimen? Any side-effects from the antibiotics?"

Freddy rolled her shoulders. The metal sides of the table chilled her calves considerably. "I'm doing pretty well, I guess."

Crane did not look up at her when she spoke.

A cold stone sank down her throat and lodged in her chest, somewhere near her heart. Perhaps he was embarrassed by what had passed between them the night before and was now struggling with an increased level of intimacy?

_No_, reason told her. _Something's wrong, Freddy, and you know it. Something is terribly wrong._

_Death. _The word struck her, insistent and painful. She suddenly remembered that upon her entry to the sanatorium, she had been asked to give her permission to perform an autopsy should she pass away.

The question, at the time, had been jarring, frightening really and it came back to Freddy now with such a force that she felt the wind knocked out of her.

_Death._

Crane put down the chart and leaned forward to open her robe. "If you don't mind, I'd like to have a quick listen," he said, pressing his stethoscope to her breast.

_Death._

His hands had touched death, she realized. Had pumped chests and taken pulses and prayed for life to be restored into empty shells. This man knew death. He had lived it, with every breath and thought and memory.

Freddy stared at Crane. Without thinking, she let her mind unfold and envelope his. He did not reject her, had no defenses to do so. Using instinct as her guide, she navigated her way through his thoughts.

To her surprise, his mind was relatively clear and brilliant with clarity. She wondered if this was what Trelawney had meant about his radiant aura. There was very little clutter amongst his reasoning and even less about his conscience…except one little black spot of worry that seemed to involve her.

She was curious and eager to investigate, but was drawn onward by panicked urgency. There was something deeper, something more terrible awaiting her.

Vaguely, Freddy was aware of him moving the stethoscope about her chest, listening to her heartbeat. With all her strength, she concentrated on the pulse of his thoughts.

And then she saw it.

_A flash. Three nurses pulling screens around a bed. Another was adjusting an oxygen mask over a pair of waxy lips. Crane, cupping his hands over a sunken chest, pounding, his brow dappled with sweat._

_Silence. Silence. And then, death._

_Crane, walking away from the body and picking up the chart that was still hooked at the end of the patient's bed; a pen was in his hand._

Respiration ceased at 12:15 AM.

_The chart snapping closed. A name on the cover. _

Lavinia Wainwright

She jolted off the table, wrenched her mind away from his so suddenly that for a moment, her head swam in the haze of his absence.

"Freddy?" Crane was staring at her. He still had the stethoscope in his hand. "Freddy, what is it?"

"Lavinia Wainwright," she coughed, surprised by the tears that gathered in her eyes. "She's dead, isn't she?"

"How do you know?" Crane stood and towered over her. "Who told you?"

"No one…I…" she stammered. "I just know."

He seemed skeptical until she looked at him, begging from him to understand.

"She wasn't that sick. I spoke to her in the solarium that day," Freddy bleated. "Just a spot of TB, she said. "Just a spot."

Crane remained standing for a moment, breathing hard and then he deflated, falling back on his low chair.

"We call it galloping consumption," he replied slowly. "A patient comes to us, seemingly healthy, strong. And then they sicken…there are complications…"

"And they die," Freddy whispered, shivering.

Crane raised a hand and placed it on her forearm. His palm felt warm. Soft.

This was insufferable.

"I can't stand this!" she blurted out, awash in fresh confusion and despair. "I hate this place."

Crane squeezed her wrist, his face drawn. He looked truly heartbroken. "Don't say that."

"Are you mad?" she cried. "Did you expect me to enjoy my stay here?"

"Well-"

"It's a fucking asylum, not a holiday resort!"

"I'm trying to help you," he protested bleakly.

But Freddy was beyond his remonstrations. "I'm not your prisoner, all right? You can't keep me in this place, this _wretched_ place. I _won't_ die here, Calum!"

This time, she didn't wait for the orderly to come with the wheelchair, but took herself up to the Intensive Care Ward alone.

* * *

**Author's Note: **R.I.P. Lavinia Wainwright. She was annoying, but she served a purpose. The culture of death in TB sanatoriums was a tricky thing. Whenever possible, patients were shielded from the death of a fellow consumptive, although, with high mortality rates it was quite difficult for the staff to keep their charges in the dark. Freddy, therefore, probably would have eventually found out about Lavinia's passing through hospital gossip.

As always, I must extend my most heartfelt thanks to all those that have read/reviewed/favorited. You guys are the best! Please forgive me for not responding to each and every one of your reviews lately, but I have been insanely busy and my free time is greatly lacking.

The next chapter is in the works and should be posted soon. I hope you have a pleasant week!


	7. Chapter Seven Shades of Regret

**Disclaimer:** I claim no ownership of Rowling's work. However, all OCs mentioned herein belong to me.

**Medical Disclaimer:** Much of this story revolves around the infectious disease, tuberculosis and its treatment. The methods I have described in this story are a mixture of both modern regimens and outdated procedures from the heyday of the sanatorium. For the purpose of this story, the main character contracts and suffers from a strain of multi-drug resistant tuberculosis found only in "wizards", therefore, her experience may differ from the experience of a "muggle" with the same disease. Finally, I am not a physician. My statements regarding tuberculosis, although thoroughly researched, should not be taken as actual medical facts.

_Cast List:_

_Forbia "Freddy" Fotherby - Melanie Lynskey _

_Healer Calum Crane - Peter Facinelli _

_Remus Lupin - James D'Arcy _

_Slatero Quirrell - Simon Woods _

_Minerva McGonagall - Maggie Smith _

_Sibyl Trelawney - Emma Thompson _

_Nurse Jenkins - Samantha Morton _

_Lavinia Wainwright - Naomi Watts _

_Finella Fotherby/Mam - Maria Doyle Kennedy_

_Healer Elliot - Mark Ruffalo_

**Chapter Seven Shades of Regret **

_I saw the danger, and yet I walked along the enchanted way, _

_And I said, let grief be a fallen leaf at the dawning of the day._

_-Taken from "Raglan Road"_ _by Patrick Kavanagh _

When Freddy got back to her room, she had a coughing fit. It was a terrible spasm. Long. Racking. Excruciatingly painful. She pulled her chair up by the open window and tried to take deep, calming breaths, but her ribs protested with every inhalation. Ugly gurgling noises came from the back of her throat and more than once she hacked up a mouthful of sputum into the cardboard cup kept on her bedside table for just such a purpose. At length, she resorted to her paper handkerchief to muffle each feverish gasp. And when she drew the tissue away, her eyes narrowed, searching for telltale specks of blood.

The patients shuffling about the hallway peered curiously into her room as they passed by.

Freddy shut her eyes. _Oh God. Oh God help us all. _

She had upset herself, just when she could not afford the luxury of any heightened emotion. It was better for consumptives not to feel, not to feel at all if they wished to live.

But ah, what was living without passion?

Freddy didn't know, but her mind jumped immediately to Crane at the mere thought of infatuation.

_Ugh. _

After a while, when the coughing fit did not cease, Nurse Jenkins poked her head through the door with a concerned frown.

"Are you all right, Professor?"

Freddy waved a shaking hand at her. "Fine. Yeah, just fine." She choked, struggling to suppress another spasm.

Jenkins stepped into the room. "Get back to bed. Now." And she lifted the blankets.

Freddy reluctantly obeyed and slipped between the cold sheets. Cold as a shroud. And Lavinia Wainwright was in need of a shroud.

Suddenly, there were tears in her eyes.

"What's wrong?" There was a rare tenderness in Nurse Jenkins's expression.

Freddy found herself clutching the woman's hand. "I'm worked up over nothing…over a very little thing."

"Shall I send for Healer Crane? He's quite busy, but I'm sure he could find a moment to see you."

"No!" Freddy started forward, the mattress creaking under her as she moved.

But Jenkins was already out the door.

_Dammit!_

She did not want to see Crane now…could not explain her fury towards him, her unnecessary outburst.

But was it so unnecessary?

Freddy folded her arms and slumped down against her pillows.

Her chest burned.

Fifteen minutes later, Nurse Jenkins returned, not with Healer Crane, but with another healer Freddy had seen a couple of times in the solarium. His name was Healer Elliot and he worked on the male ward on the other side of the sanatorium.

Happily, Elliot was the exact opposite of Crane. An American. Burly where his colleague was lithe. Olive-skinned as opposed to pale. His black hair fell in curls over his forehead, shining slightly as if he had run a damp comb through them.

"Nurse Jenkins tells me you're not feeling well," he said, sitting on the chair next to Freddy's bed. "Healer Crane is busy with a few patients in the pneumothorax pavilion, so I thought I'd check on you. Wow, you're as red as a lobster. Breathe in for me now, all right? And what's your name? I didn't catch it."

When she told him her name was Freddy Fotherby, Elliot's eyes widened ever so slightly.

"Oh, Professor Fotherby," he drawled. "You're the one Calum performed the pneumonectomy on in February, right? Geez. I can see-" He didn't finish, but instead broke off with a rough laugh. Dimples framed his mouth.

"Can see what?" Freddy prompted. The words came out as a faint gasp. A warm lump rose in her throat.

The healer clapped his broad hand on her shoulder. "No talking, or I'll have to pack ice on your chest. You don't want to hemorrhage now, do you?"

She shook her head.

In the end, Elliot ordered Nurse Jenkins to give Freddy a dose of Sleeping Draught, which would force her to rest whether she liked it or not.

"Remember, the only thing you have to worry about is recovering," Elliot said as she drank a glass of purple liquid. "I don't think Healer Crane would be pleased to find one of his patients in hysterics."

Freddy was about to tell him that she wasn't hysterical at all and if she was, Crane should be at fault. But just as she handed the glass back to Jenkins, her arm went slack and she fell against the pillows.

Elliot and the nurse left, their footsteps trailing down the long hall outside her room. The last thing Freddy remembered was the sound of music. The patient in the room next to her was playing something on an old radio. Something with strings. Mahler, maybe…

Whatever it was, Freddy didn't like it. Didn't like it at all. The sonata was all warbling strings and ponderous piano, something that mimicked the whimsical by fostering darkness.

And in the hall, Elliot was speaking with Jenkins in hushed tones.

"You should have told me who she was," he said. "Calum's very particular about her, so very protective…"

* * *

For most of the day, Freddy's sleep was dreamless. Uneasy, but dreamless. The specter of Lavinia Wainwright stayed hidden in her subconscious, leaving her mind barren, plagued with only a soft nothingness.

By dinnertime, Freddy did not want to stir from her rest and she grumbled when Jenkins shoved a dinner tray under her nose. She didn't feel like eating and picked at the roast beef until the orderlies came to take away her leftovers.

With the sun waning weakly to the west, Freddy succumbed to sleep once more.

And this time, she dreamed.

She dreamed of a summer two years ago, when June was at its height and the world held such an aching promise of life. But Freddy was a wasted figure. And she sat in Professor Dumbledore's office, trying to recount everything she knew about Quirrell's trip to Albania, including his manic behavior that had developed over the school year.

She remembered having to hear how Harry Potter, the wunderkind, the brave, brave boy, had stopped You-Know-Who from stealing the Sorcerers Stone and in the process, had killed her fiancé.

Had burned the flesh from his face.

And she had sat there crying, blubbering in Dumbledore's office, with a crumpled tissue in her hand and no one to mourn with her.

Life was sand in an hourglass. Fleeting. Fickle. And faint. Time was borrowed from darkness, edged by eternity.

And you could end up dying of TB, just because fate was unfair.

So very unfair.

In the morning, Freddy awoke feeling tremendously guilty. She knew shouldn't have been so hard on Crane. After all, he too was painfully aware of humanity's fragility. Instead of embracing him as a companion to her grief, she had rejected him. Harshly. Rudely.

By breakfast, Freddy was already forming a suitable apology.

If Crane would even see her, that is. If he hadn't already dismissed her as stubborn and prickly and useless.

When the orderlies came to change her sheets, she stood by the window and watched the heather tremble under the slight touch of the wind. Sunlight glanced down on the distant spire of the town church and the chalk road was as white as a bone.

Freddy found herself blushing. If only Crane did not pay so much attention to her, if only he didn't care…

A nurse rapped briskly on the door. "Professor, you have a visitor."

Her reverie was shattered and Freddy turned from the window, her gut clenching.

For once, she truly wished to be left alone.

"Who is it?" she asked, feeling entirely ungrateful.

The nurse raised one shoulder in a half-shrug. "Your mother."

Instinctively, Freddy grimaced. _Not Mam, not now!_

She was being selfish, of course. Mam had every right to visit her and Freddy had to admit, her mother was trying her best to support her only child at such a tricky time. She regularly sent books or new magazines and encouraged her friends to owl get well cards to her invalid daughter. But Mam was, well, Mam. She nagged. She worried. And she objected to Freddy's carefree attitude, citing the many times impulsion and poor planning had landed her child into trouble.

Freddy had very little patience for her mother, not because she disliked her, but rather, because she was a generally impatient person.

And so they quibbled and quarreled and got on each other's nerves. It was expected, even anticipated. Right now, however, she didn't feel like going head to head with Mam.

Feeling undeniably anxious, Freddy opened the drawer of her bedside table and found a brush. Nurse Jenkins had suggested that she get her long hair cut, keeping it short and manageable until her health improved. Freddy, however, argued that she had already given up one lung to TB. Her hair was staying just as it was…tangles and all.

Quickly, she pulled the brush through her tresses, scowling as the humid air made the ends all too frizzy. She was trying to separate her locks into two neat braids when Mam entered in her traveling cloak.

The older woman put down the wicker basket she was carrying and shook her head. "You're making a mess, Forbia. Let me help you."

"Mam!" Freddy groaned as her mother undid the plaits. "It's fine."

But her mother would not be dissuaded. Taking out her wand, she muttered a spell which worked wonders on the elf knots. After a minute of pinching and pulling, Mam had her hair up in a clean, if not frumpy bun.

"You look decent," she said, turning her daughter around to face her.

"Not like death warmed over?" Freddy muttered sarcastically.

Mam pursed her lips in annoyance and hugged her. "Not so much skin and bones. They've been feeding you well, I see. Maybe I shouldn't have brought so much food with me then."

"Oh, let me see!" Freddy was generally intrigued now and she watched as her mother opened the wicker basket, lifting sealed jars out onto the top of her bureau.

Raspberry preserves. Fresh honey. A loaf of good farm bread. And, of course, the obligatory chocolates and candies Freddy had loved as a teenager.

"Mrs. McGregor gave me a bottle of whiskey to bring you, from her own still," Mam said. "But the nurse at the front desk confiscated it. She says you aren't allowed alcohol."

"Well, she can go to hell," Freddy replied, picking up a jar of homemade apple butter. "Did you bring any biscuits? I hate the ones they give us. They're like something a soldier would eat in the trenches…what do you call it?…government issue."

"Here." Mam produced a package of biscuits from the bottom of the basket. "Don't go through them all at once, though."

"I'm not twelve, Mam."

"You certainly sound like it." She removed her grey traveling cloak and her own dark hair, touched with rivers of grey, fell in tidy waves down her back. "Do you still have the books I sent you two weeks ago?"

"Yeah, I'm hiding them under my bed." Freddy sat on the edge of her mattress and gave her mother the chair by the window. "The library here is so dismal. I think the other patients might sneak in here and see if they can scrounge anything interesting from the professor."

"Speaking of which." Mam sat, pulling off her dainty, tan gloves. "Is Professor Dumbledore still intent on keeping you on his staff? I have to say, he's a more generous employer than I could ever be."

"I know. You fired the cowhand, Jamie Murray, when he broke his leg. Dad was so mad at you!"

"You always bring that up. Every time, Forbia. I told you, I caught the lad stealing from our grain stores."

Freddy folded her arms over her white pajama top. "Yeah, well, I would have given him a second chance. He was a good worker."

Mam looked at her hard, her brown eyes perfectly shrewd. "I'm not saying you always have to take my advice, but still, you might be more considerate."

"What? Of you?" Freddy said, eyeing the jarred preserves. Her appetite had suddenly returned.

"No, of yourself, Forbia." Mam swung her right leg over her knee. "You see, this is what happens when you trip all about the place. I know your job requires you to travel…but perhaps you wouldn't have picked up this awful disease if you'd been a bit more _careful_."

"They say I caught it in America, Mam, not the Amazon."

"And to think you fought me when your healer wanted to send you here." Mam glanced out the window and the sun touched the narrow lines around her eyes and lips. "I thought I would have to commit you."

"It's a TB sanatorium, not a mental institution." Freddy exhaled sharply through her nose and sat up straight. Her posture was becoming terrible these days…something to do with what Crane called the TB walk. Consumptives often walked with their shoulders stooped, shuffling about as they protected their concave chests. "The only person who could commit me is a healer and not because I'm crazy, but _contagious_."

Mam pinched the bridge of her nose. "Forbia, what a mess."

"Mam, I didn't intentionally spread TB about Hogwarts."

"I know, but if you would only take better care of yourself instead of running about-"

"It's always like this. Every time I see you, you have something to say. Some complaint. I really can't stand it-"

Another knock sounded on the door. This time, both Freddy and her mother jumped. The same nurse was standing on the threshold, looking perfectly prim in her blue uniform and starched cap.

"I'm so sorry to interrupt again," she said and Freddy wondered if she had overheard the beginnings of their mother/daughter quarrel.

And it really wasn't _her _fault that they were fighting already. Mam just had to be picky. If Dad had been here, he would have taken up the role of exhausted moderator and separated the pair before they really began to sharpen their verbal daggers.

Hmm, perhaps it was good that the nurse had come in after all…

"It's fine," Freddy assured the woman. "No trouble, really."

The nurse grinned convulsively. "I only wanted to tell you, professor, that your other visitor is here. He said you'd be expecting him."

Freddy felt her eyes widen. Another visitor? That was crazy…she wasn't expecting anyone else today.

The nurse moved to the side, allowing Remus Lupin to step into the room.

He had a bunch of wild daisies in his hand.

* * *

They were sitting in the solarium, towards the back of the room where the patients kept the bird cage. The pair of parakeets, aptly named Hamlet and Ophelia, were feasting on a broken up biscuit Freddy had tossed amongst their seeds.

Lupin smiled appreciatively as Ophelia vocalized her thanks. "I don't know, Freddy. This place reminds me of some posh spa. I can just see tourists sunbathing in here."

Freddy exhaled sharply. "Let's trade places then, shall we?"

"Forbia." Mam, who was sitting comfortably between them in a cushioned, wicker chair, offered Lupin a piece of shortbread. "You see, Mr. Lupin, my daughter would do anything to get out of here. She'd sell her soul, I believe."

Lupin took the shortbread, muttering his thanks. "Please, call me Remus. And I suppose I shouldn't tease her, then. Sorry, Freddy. Let's not have any Faustian bargains, shall we?"

"Whatever," she huffed in response. "You were the same way at Hogwarts, Remus. Constantly goading me. What am I going to do now that you've resigned your post?"

"You'll survive." Lupin finished the bread and nodded at the older woman on his left. "You're an accomplished baker, Mrs. Fotherby. I wish my mother was a good cook. She's a brilliant lady, but I'm afraid she's never quite mastered the culinary arts."

"Oh well." Mam blushed. "I do what I can."

Freddy allowed herself a relieved sigh as she listened to the pleasant chatter of her two visitors. Things were going well. Unbelievably well. When Lupin had first showed up in her room an hour ago, Freddy had feared the worst. She worried that her rather tricky relationship with her mother would be undeniably obvious to even the casual observer and Lupin would be scared away. Up until now, she hadn't realized how badly she needed a friend, a _good_ friend. And if Lupin decided to shake her off, well, then she'd be quite alone.

Except for Crane, of course. Though he wasn't exactly her friend, was he?

Fortunately, Freddy soon realized that her anxiety was unfounded. Mam was a sociable woman and she always tried her best to make others comfortable, to play the part of the good hostess even when she wasn't in her own home.

And Lupin was gracious and kind and sweet. He talked at length about his new position with Robert Rosetree, a scholar of defensive magic who was currently putting together a new book on non-verbal spells. Lupin worked as Rosetree's assistant, helping with some of the research, organizing the bibliography and managing all of the correspondence with the publishing house. He liked the job a good deal, although Freddy guessed the pay wasn't half of what a Hogwart's professor received. In fact, his robes were looking a bit shabbier than usual…

Mam must have also noticed just how hollow Lupin's cheeks were, because she kept feeding him her homemade shortbread.

After a while, she rose abruptly and handed the nearly empty tin to Freddy.

"Say what you will, but I know shortbread is dry," Mam said with a kind smile. "We need something to drink with it. I'm going down to the tea room to bring a tray up for us. Be back in a bit."

"Oh, all right," Freddy replied. She didn't really think anything of her mother's suggestion…until she leaned down to whisper in her ear.

"I'll give you two some alone time," Mam whispered, her eyes suddenly knowing.

Freddy raised her eyebrows, but said nothing.

"I feel bad," Lupin said once Mam was gone. "If I'd known I was disrupting your visit with your mother-"

"Please," Freddy cut him off at once. "I'm so glad you came. We'd have killed each other already."

"Really? I thought you two seemed to get along rather well."

"If we have someone to mediate our conversations, yes." She cleared her throat, realizing at once that she had accidentally revealed the not-so-pleasant tidbit she'd hoped to keep quiet.

But on the upside, Lupin didn't show any signs of fleeing. In fact, he began to laugh.

Freddy shuffled her feet, her fingers curling around the edge of her seat. "Thanks for the flowers, by the way. They really brightened up my room."

Lupin looked embarrassed and his taut cheeks darkened with color. "I remember Professor Sprout mentioning that you liked daisies."

"They're very cheerful," Freddy noted. "Completely un-English." She glanced out one of the tall windows and saw several patients reclining on the patios that stuck out from the floor below. The weather was warm. Pleasant. And yet, something sharp and painful stuck in her throat.

"Do you think I'm a cruel person?" she asked him. "Well, maybe cruel is the wrong word. I don't know. Remember…remember the time I snapped at you during the start of term, when we first met in the staff room?"

"You snapped at me a lot," Lupin said wryly.

Freddy tilted her head to the side. "Yeah, I did, didn't I? I suppose that answers my question."

"Not so fast." He raised his hand to stop her. "Do you want my opinion or not?"

"Obviously."

"Then I will give you my answer." Lupin bowed his head courteously. "No, you are not a cruel person. You are not even a nasty person. I think, however, that you are on edge and I certainly know what it's like to always be on the defensive."

"And to lash out at people," Freddy said, attempting insightfulness.

Lupin laid his fingers on his knees. "In a manner."

He suddenly looked very constrained, very controlled. Freddy wondered if that was a by-product of his lycanthropy. Lupin overcompensated for his feral nature by restraining himself. And she overcompensated for her fear by snapping at people.

Hmm, self-reflection wasn't the least bit flattering.

"I quarreled with Crane last night," she admitted at length.

Lupin's expression narrowed. "Your healer?"

"Yes. I should have been understanding…should have been thoughtful. And yet, I turned against him. Told him what I really thought of this place."

They were silent for several heartbeats, but Freddy found she could not stand the quiet…the quiet of the tomb.

"It's getting harder, Remus," she said. "I thought it would get easier after a while, but it's not." Peeking over her shoulder, she spotted two male patients sitting at a nearby table, a game of wizard's chess between them.

Discreetly, she rose and took her mother's vacant seat, closer to Remus. His nostrils dilated in bewilderment.

"A patient died two nights ago," she whispered. "A woman I knew. I didn't like her…she didn't like me, but she died, and…and she wasn't even that sick."

The muscles in his jaw worked, pulsing in time with the vein in his temple. "Did you…_See_ it?"

"Not until after. I sensed it in Crane. He was devastated. I'm…God, I'm devastated. I just keep thinking of Quirrell. And how Lavinia-that was her name-how Lavinia must be laying downstairs in the morgue, _right now_."

Freddy was surprised to discover that her cheeks were damp and even more shocked when Remus put his arm around her.

They embraced.

"Hey," he said in a low, husky tone. "Hey, it's all right. I understand…there's no way of escaping _it_ here. But you're not going to die, Freddy. In September, you'll be back to teaching. I just know it. Look at how much progress you've made so far. Come on now, don't think such ugly thoughts."

Freddy swallowed, regaining enough of her composure to be ashamed. "Sorry," she said thickly, wiping at her tears. "I'm too sensitive about things like this. You think I would know better by now. It's just nice, to have-" She trailed off, realizing for the first time in months, that someone was touching her, not with the impersonal hands of a nurse or a healer or an orderly, but with the intention to comfort and console.

And Freddy had missed being touched.

"You're a good friend to put up with me," she told him. "I'm really going to miss having you as a colleague. Out of all the Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers I knew, you were the best."

Remus's brows knitted together in confusion. "Quirrell?"

But Freddy just shook her head, tactfully sliding out from underneath his arm and leaning back in her chair. "He shouldn't have taken the job…for obvious reasons."

"So you've made peace with it?"

Freddy nodded. "I suppose I should move on now. That would be the obvious thing to-"

But then Mam returned with the tea tray and Freddy entirely forgot what she was going to say.

* * *

Remus stayed long enough to have a cup of tea and then politely excused himself. Freddy saw him to the door of the solarium, where he promised to return as soon as he could. They embraced once more, briefly, and she watched him walk down the hall, so out of place in his shabby robes with nothing but polished floors and gleaming walls around him.

After he left, Freddy felt exhausted. She went back to her room and let Mam fuss over the state of her pajamas.

"But I like this robe," she said with a yawn as her mother frowned doubtfully at the lavender wrap with the fraying, yellow embroidery. "I bought it in Prague a couple of years ago and I finally have the chance to show it off now."

Mam was exasperated. "You look very maudlin, like the _Lady of the Camellias_, really. I'm going to Diagon Alley next week. I'll pick you up something nice…something comfortable and stylish."

"Don't waste your money," Freddy replied.

Once more, Mam pursed her lips, but surprisingly enough, she relented and changed the topic. "I like him very much, by the way."

"Remus Lupin?" Freddy raised her head. Somewhere outside in the corridor, the dinner bell was ringing. Visiting hours were over.

"Yes." Slowly, Mam began to gather her things. "Why didn't you tell me about him before?"

"Uh-"

Mam reached for her traveling cloak. "I'm glad, though," she said, fastening the clasp about her neck. "It's good for you to have someone. After all, I never thought you'd get over that Slatero Quirrell."

* * *

**Author's Note: **The _Lady of the Camellias_, referenced in this chapter by Freddy's mother is a novel written in 19th century by Alexander Dumas, fils. It was subsequently adapted to the stage and later, the basis for the opera, _La Traviata,_ and the film, _Moulin Rouge. _Consistent with all the adaptations is the heroine, a courtesan who suffers from TB.

Hmm, I didn't realize how much I missed writing Remus. He's such a fun character.

As always, I'd like to thank everyone who took the time to read/review. You guys are great! Thanks!

The next chapter is in the works and should be posted soon. Take care!


	8. Chapter Eight Il Dolce Suono

**Disclaimer:** I claim no ownership of Rowling's work. However, all OCs mentioned herein belong to me.

**Medical Disclaimer:** Much of this story revolves around the infectious disease, tuberculosis and its treatment. The methods I have described in this story are a mixture of both modern regimens and outdated procedures from the heyday of the sanatorium. For the purpose of this story, the main character contracts and suffers from a strain of multi-drug resistant tuberculosis found only in "wizards", therefore, her experience may differ from the experience of a "muggle" with the same disease. Finally, I am not a physician. My statements regarding tuberculosis, although thoroughly researched, should not be taken as actual medical facts.

_Cast List: _

_Forbia "Freddy" Fotherby - Melanie Lynskey _

_Healer Calum Crane - Peter Facinelli _

_Remus Lupin - James D'Arcy _

_Slatero Quirrell - Simon Woods _

_Minerva McGonagall - Maggie Smith _

_Sibyl Trelawney - Emma Thompson _

_Nurse Jenkins - Samantha Morton _

_Lavinia Wainwright - Naomi Watts _

_Finella Fotherby/Mam - Maria Doyle Kennedy_

_Healer Elliot - Mark Ruffalo_

**Chapter Eight Il Dolce Suono  
**

"Geez Calum, you look like crap."

Crane looked up, one palm pressed convulsively against his temple. His hand paused in midair, causing his quill to decorate his parchment with several thumb-sized blotches.

"Elliot, I didn't hear you in the corridor."

Healer Elliot was leaning against the open office door, his thick fingers groping at the knot in his tie. "It's your damn opera. I can hear that record player of yours all the way across the sanatorium. Can't you play something decent?"

"Like Elvis?" Crane snatched up his wand and flicked it at the player behind him. The needle lifted off the record, effectively silencing Handel's _Lascia Ch'io Pianga_. "You know, you don't have to cater to the stereotype that all Americans are crude bumpkins."

"Oh, but we are," Elliot drawled. His Bostonian accent was deliberate and he drew out the last syllables so that they sounded like 'ahhre'. "Excited for the meeting tomorrow? Hmm, I don't know if I'll be able to sleep tonight."

"The meeting?" Crane leaned back in his chair and dropped his messy quill into the inkstand on the desk. His neck was aching and he tilted his head far to the right, groaning as the bones cracked. "It's going to be fun this quarter. The board of directors ought to chew me out."

Elliot sidled into the office, smiling at his friend and colleague. "For what? Having the highest cure rate in the world?"

Crane felt his intestines squirm. "We lost two patients this month and for the first time in three years we have a waiting list. There simply aren't enough beds in the sanatorium. And we're overcrowded as it is…TB is on the rise."

"You do realize that I've been here for three years and at the end of every quarter you say the _exact _same thing. TB is on the rise, I get it. Otherwise I wouldn't be able to pay my bills."

"Now that's unusually selfish of you," Crane replied as Elliot dropped into the chair opposite him, his tie off, collar open. "And here I thought you became a healer to help people."

Elliot was fishing in his pocket, frowning. "The money doesn't hurt either. Come on, be honest with yourself, Calum. It's not a bad gig." After a minute of searching, he found what he was looking for and extracted a pack of cigarettes.

"No smoking in the building-" Crane started, but his friend had already lit a fag with a flame from the tip of his wand.

"It's either lung cancer or TB," Elliot puffed. "I don't like my odds either way. Want one?"

Crane batted the smoke away with his hand. "No, thank you."

"Might do you good. You need to relax."

"I need a larger staff and possibly another ward to house the overflow."

"So is that what this is all about?" Elliot took a long drag. "You're gonna to ask the board of directors for more money. They'll give it to you, I'm sure. You don't have to beg. Don't sweat it."

Crane moaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I need a headache tonic. And no, it's not about the money, Elliot. It's about the bodies down in the morgue and the patients we have clamoring for admittance and…"

"And that Professor Fotherby. Yeah. It's about her too, isn't it?"

Crane's head snapped up quickly, his fingers automatically tightening into fists. The air in his office was cloudy from the smoke and through the haze, he saw Elliot's dark eyes shining with amusement.

His stomach dropped to his knees.

_God, it couldn't be that obvious. _

Elliot leaned back in his chair and flicked the ash from his cigarette into a potted plant nearby. "For your information, I'd say you have some difficulty with keeping things understated. You were never good with women, Calum."

Crane rolled his stiff shoulders, feeling an uncomfortable weight settle around his neck and hang there. "We can't talk about this now, do you understand?"

"Sure." But Elliot was still smiling.

Crane tried to ignore him and instead, went back to his paperwork. But his eyes were burning, _stinging_ and he couldn't make out what he'd been writing. He clutched his thigh with his right hand, emitting a shuddering sigh.

This was trouble. _Huge_ trouble.

He reached for his quill and then paused. Elliot watched him closely.

Crane knew he should say something, anything that would put the situation to rest and mollify his friend's curiosity. And Elliot had always been something of a confident to him, although his advice often seemed to clash with Crane's own sensibilities. In truth, he was too embarrassed to address the issue.

Elliot was right, of course. He was no good with women. Too shy. Too sensitive. Too uncertain of himself.

Fortunately, his career as a healer had distracted him from romance for the most part. Every now and then he ran into a nurse who was a bit too overt in her flirtatious overtures and when he had studied at Johns Hopkins, he'd met a pretty Muggle student who'd managed to snag his interest.

Crane, however, had been single for most of his life, which was pathetic considering he was thirty-seven and, according to _Witch Weekly_, quite the eligible bachelor.

But all that meant nothing, especially now…especially since he was in love with Freddy Fotherby.

Which, needless to say, was strictly against the sanatorium's policy. In fact, it was against any medical policy he knew of. Healers weren't supposed to fall in love with their patients, after all…

And it certainly wasn't like him to throw caution to the wind and completely lose his head. But Freddy, yes, Freddy was just the sort of woman he could fall in love with. Intellectually, she was his match, but more importantly, she fit his ideal of the tragic heroine.

Like Mimi in _La Boheme. _Or Violetta in _La Traviata_.

Elliot seemed to know exactly what Crane was thinking and his smile threatened to split his face in half.

"See what happens when you get too involved?" he said. "I had a feeling this Hogwarts professor was special…you went on and on about the pneumonectomy you performed on her last February. Ah, how romantic!"

"Don't be stupid," Crane replied a little more harshly than he had intended. "I told you how I felt about her case; it's one of the most challenging I've ever had. Why shouldn't I be concerned with her well-being?"

"Yes, but there's a difference." Elliot dropped his hands between his knees, not bothering to brush off the embers floating down to the carpet. "You're not interested in the TB, buddy."

Crane found he couldn't look his friend in the eye and instead he focused his attention on his now silent record player. Pointing his wand at the album, he set it to playing once more. Strains of Donizetti's _Il Dolce Suono _warbled through the smoky air.

Crane listened for a moment, the sumptuous Italian phrasing of the soprano sweeping over him and providing a measure of calm.

_Il dolce suono mi colpì di sua voce!Ah, quella voce m'è qui nel cor discesa!*_

He closed his eyes.

But then Elliot began to shift in his chair, causing the legs to hit the floor.

Crane snorted in annoyance. "Is that really necessary? I know you don't like opera, but this aria is truly magnificent. If only you would listen-" His voice trailed off as his eyes opened.

Elliot was sitting still in his chair, his head turned towards the open door. Freddy Fotherby was standing in the corridor outside, one hand raised timidly as she knocked on the glass pane.

"I'm so sorry to disturb you," she blurted out, "and I honestly swear that I have never been this obnoxious or presumptive in my entire life…but can I come in?"

Crane started to open his mouth, but Elliot was already on his feet.

"You see, Calum," he said, "I told you that your opera would keep the entire sanatorium awake."

* * *

The evening after Lupin and Mam's visit, Freddy dug out her finest bathrobe. Well, it was a dressing gown, really. The name bathrobe implied terry cloth and fuzzy slippers and this _dressing gown_ was anything but commonplace.

She'd bought it in Newport, Rhode Island four years ago and it was one of those purchases she intermittently regretted. Because truthfully, what use did she have for such a luxury? Not to mention, the colors were also rather loud (burnt orange, with pink along the collar) and the tasseled belt made her think of stuffy Victorian drawing rooms. Certainly not the look she was going for at all and maybe that's why she never wore it.

But tonight was different. Very different. Tonight she was going to be brave and wait for the nurses to do their final rounds and then sneak down to Healer Crane's office after lights out.

Not that she wanted to see him, quite the opposite. Freddy would rather ignore the man. Hide from him.

Unfortunately, the sanatorium did not have many accessible broom closets and patients were tracked by the staff as though they were the Ministry's most wanted.

So Freddy had to do the next best thing. She had to apologize, find some suitable way express regret for accidentally/intentionally sneaking into Crane's mind and then losing her cool when she saw something she didn't like.

It wouldn't be an easy task, although Lupin's visit had given her some courage. He was in her corner, at least, if no one else was and that meant that Freddy had to better herself, had to make herself worthy of his support.

Easier said than done, of course, but she was getting used to the challenges of life.

Somewhat.

And so she decided to wear her dressing gown and tie her messy hair back with an old silk scarf her aunt had given her several Christmases ago. If she looked halfway decent, then perhaps Crane would realize that he didn't need to protect her from everything unpleasant about the sanatorium. And perhaps then she would have the strength to tell him that not everything about the sanatorium was unpleasant and that she was sorry to have insulted him.

Or something like that.

When Jenkins poked her head into the room at twenty after nine, Freddy was all tucked up in her bed and she raised her head lazily to glance at the nurse.

"Sorry to wake you," she apologized, shuffling into the room to hand Freddy a paper cup, "but your last dose is important."

"Bottoms up," Freddy yawned sleepily and knocked the pair of pills back into her throat, chasing it down with a mouthful of lukewarm water. "Good night."

"Good night, Professor." Jenkins left the room, turning off the hall lights with a flick of her wand.

Freddy watched the corridor go dark save for the solitary lamp that illuminated the nurse's station five doors down. Footsteps echoed on the tile floor, then completely ceded into the wet, heavy air of the early summer evening.

Freddy took a breath and then sat up in bed. The night nurse wouldn't be back to check on her until midnight. About a month ago, when Crane had decided that she was no longer a high risk patient and would probably not kick off during the night, he allowed the staff to space out their evening rounds until they were delightfully seldom. Freddy, who hoarded her privacy like goblin's gold, was quick to take advantage of this new privilege. Although she doubted Crane would approve of her breaking the sanatorium rules _again_, she simply couldn't continue to ignore her nagging conscience. Hopefully he wouldn't lose his temper with her this time and have the night staff tie her to her bed or some other dreadful thing. After all, she had read somewhere that the child patients, most of whom were apt to wander and misbehave, were quite literally strapped to their sheets. But that had been many years ago, hadn't it?

Freddy decided to take a chance and hopped out of bed, her feet deftly finding the slippers she kept by her bedside table. Tip-toeing out into the hall, she checked the corridor for nurses and orderlies before darting down the staircase to the next floor.

The downstairs corridor was likewise deserted and she began to wonder if perhaps Crane was busy finishing his own rounds and not in his office. But as she drew closer to his door, the high, fluting sounds of a seasoned soprano caught her attention. And then someone spoke.

For one perilous moment, Freddy found herself frozen halfway between the door and the staircase. She couldn't do this. She simply couldn't. How could she possibly explain herself to Crane? And perhaps, yes, perhaps she shouldn't even bother. As it was, she preferred to keep some measure of distance between them, a sterile space where their only interaction was that of a Healer and his patient. She didn't need to get chummy with the fellow and if he was mad at her, well, then maybe he should stay mad.

But then her conscience kicked in and she found herself blushing. What she wouldn't have given for an apology, an apology from all the rude students who had teased her, from her fellow staff members who had been suspicious of her, and from Quirrell, who had betrayed her.

Oh, it would have meant so very much….

And it would certainly heal the unnecessary wound Freddy had inflicted upon Crane. After all, he was only trying to help her.

With some difficulty, she tried to even her breathing. The soprano was still singing, her voice slightly manic and an unwelcome chill danced up Freddy's spine, Nonetheless, she took a step forward and knocked on the heavy glass pane of the door.

"I'm so sorry to disturb you," she said, "and I honestly swear that I have never been this obnoxious or presumptive in my entire life…but can I come in?"

And it was then that she realized she was standing face to face with Healer Elliot.

The man smiled, showing every one of his white teeth. "You see, Calum," he said, "I told you that your opera would keep the entire sanatorium awake."

Elliot stepped aside to reveal Crane, sitting at his desk, open-mouthed.

"Freddy!" He bounded to his feet, the quill in his hand dripping ink across his expensive desktop.

"You know, we were just talking about you, Professor," Elliot added, sweeping her into the room.

Crane's mouth flapped open even wider. "No, we weren't. Well, we were. About your health…that is. How…how are you feeling?"

Freddy's face suddenly felt very hot. She pressed a hand to her collarbone, all too aware that her flesh must be the same color as her bright robe. "Fine. I'm perfect, actually. Again, I'm so sorry to disturb you. I'm usually not this rude…considering that I hate rude people. I…I should have asked one of the nurses to bring me down."

"Then I'd get yelled at for smoking," Elliot said. He made a great show of stubbing out his cigarette in a potted plant. "Promise you won't rat me out to Nurse Jenkins. She's more of a stickler than Calum here."

"I don't smoke," Crane said quickly. "And Elliot shouldn't either. It's against the sanatorium rules."

Freddy jammed her hands into her pockets and tried to grin. "It's also against the rules to be out of bed at night, so I guess we're even."

"Deal." Elliot stuck at his broad hand and Freddy shook it, noticing that his palm was slightly calloused. "Now, if you'll excuse me for being _rude_, I'd really like to get some shut-eye. They say humans only need roughly seven or eight hours of sleep a night. I guess I must be a superhuman then, because I need eleven…at least."

And he stretched and yawned, his collar gaping to reveal the dark hair on his chest. For some reason, Freddy found she had to look away. It was much like being a student at Hogwarts again and walking in on two teachers chatting about Quidditch results or what they had for breakfast. It had taken her a long time to realize that teachers were human too, just like Healers, apparently. Still, she couldn't keep from blushing.

"Take care, you two," Elliot said as he headed for the door. "Oh and Calum-don't be an idiot."

This last bit of advice made Crane appear even more sheepish and Freddy laughed into her palm.

After Elliot shut the door, Crane sank back into his chair with a sigh. "You'll have to ignore him, he doesn't mean to be so-"

"Flirty?" Freddy supplied.

Crane's eyes widened. "I was going to say informal, but then again, some patients like their Healers to be flighty and flippant." He stared at her for a moment, as if trying to decide whether she was just one such patient.

The silence between them was aching. Tense. Freddy's skin prickled despite the heavy humidity.

"Ugh," she muttered, running her hand over the scarf she had tied over her hair. The knot at the base of her neck was coming loose and she tugged at it to make it tight once more. "So, here I am again, directly defying your orders and sneaking out of bed. Are you mad at me?"

Crane dropped his elbows onto the arms of his chair with a nervous smile. "No. But I must say, you do have a penchant for nighttime wandering."

"I do and that's probably why I became a professor at Hogwarts. As a student, I'd get detention for being out after curfew, but as a professor, ah, let's just say it's one of the more pleasant job perks." Freddy fiddled with the belt of her dressing gown, eyeing the empty chair in front of Crane's desk.

The Healer caught her gaze and suddenly sat forward, stuttering. "W…Won't you sit down? I'm so sorry. I'm…I'm not usually this much of a mess."

"Oh." Freddy swallowed and promptly sat. "I don't think you're much of a mess, compared to me, at least. But you might want to do something about the ink stains on your hands."

Crane looked at his fingers and frowned. "Yes, there is that." He withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket and began wiping his hands clean.

Freddy chewed at her lip. God, this was beginning to get painful. She had to say something. _Anything_. But what?

The words came to her before she could stop them. "I wanted to apologize to you, Healer Crane, about what happened a couple of nights ago. I…I just couldn't sleep with it on my mind. We both know I was wrong. I shouldn't have gotten hysterical. I shouldn't have lashed out at you like that. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

Crane paused, the folds of his handkerchief falling over his fine-boned, surgeon's fingers. Behind him, the Lady of Shalott swooned effortlessly on her barge. The colors were vibrant, much like Freddy's robe and she felt a sudden kinship with the painted figure. Adrift. Lost to fickle currents and misplaced love.

She shook her head. Geez, she was starting to sound like old Trelawney.

Crane stuffed his handkerchief back into his pants' pocket and leaned forward. "Oh Freddy, you don't have to apologize. I understand. Believe me, I do. It's hard here, I know that. Your reaction was perfectly normal."

"No, it wasn't." Freddy rubbed her eyes. "You…you don't understand. I…ugh, this is going to sound so stupid."

"What?" Crane was gazing at her with such sympathy that she found it hard to lie to him.

"It's because I felt Mrs. Wainwright's death first," she replied lamely. "I could sense it. My mind had all the pieces of the puzzle, but I couldn't put things together. And the not knowing was the worst part, the absolute _worst_ part."

Crane wet his lips with his tongue. "I'm afraid I'm a bit lost here."

Freddy took a deep breath, as deep as she could with one lung and plowed ahead. "I'm a Seer."

To his credit, he didn't look shocked. Only puzzled. "A Seer?" he repeated. "As in Divination?"

Freddy shrugged helplessly. "Yes, I suppose. Though it's not what you think. I…I just hate talking about it and I honestly didn't believe it myself until the TB. Because…because I _saw_ it, months before it happened. I knew it was coming and yet I couldn't do anything. Well, I didn't know I had TB, but I knew something was wrong. You see, it's not so much having visions and Seeing the future. You have to learn to interpret your impressions, which, to be honest, I'm rubbish at."

"Wait, wait." Crane raised his hands, palms up and outward. "Let me get this straight. You knew Lavinia Wainwright was going to die?"

Freddy opened her mouth to contradict him, but he quickly corrected himself.

"Or rather, you felt that something was wrong, but you didn't know exactly what," he concluded.

"Exactly." Freddy sighed in relief. Perhaps this Seeing business was easier to explain than she thought.

"And you felt as though something was amiss months before you came down with tuberculosis?" he asked.

"Yes," Freddy answered. "Although I was distracted. I completely misinterpreted the signs…I thought they had to do with something else and I was wrong. Completely wrong."

"How were you wrong?" Crane asked.

Freddy could tell he was generally curious and not the least bit judgmental. By all means, she should feel comfortable discussing this subject with him.

But she wasn't.

"Umm." Once more, she smoothed the scarf over her head. "I guess it had to do with some problems I'd been having, well, I was dealing with quite a few things at the time. Trying to move on."

Crane looked confused.

Freddy tried to take another deep breath, but this time, she coughed. "I was engaged to be married several years ago… but he died."

Crane went pale as death-as pale as one of his patients. "I'm so sorry," he managed after a moment. "I had _no_ idea."

"Well, it's a bit of a secret," Freddy said and she attempted to laugh. The noise she emitted was dry, painful. Her throat clenched. "Not a secret, actually, I just don't like to talk about it."

"I can understand that."

"No, you can't." She lowered her eyes, frustrated. "The whole issue is rather complicated. Do you remember, umm, do you remember about two years back, when a professor was killed at Hogwarts? He'd endangered the life of a student, tried to steal something that belonged to Headmaster Dumbledore."

"Vaguely." Crane's eyes were narrowed.

"Yes, well, that was him."

"Oh…my." Crane's mouth fell open. "I can't imagine-"

"And to make matters worse, I was completely oblivious. _Completely_. It was horrible. I didn't even know I had been betrayed until…until after the fact. You see, I'm so stupid." Freddy was shocked when she felt her eyes moisten. Ugh, why did she have to be so weak? So useless?

She blinked and swallowed, biting the inside of her cheek to keep her jaw from trembling.

Crane reached into his pocket and, to her horror, produced his handkerchief again. But as he went to hand it her, he noticed the ink stains and hesitated.

"Sorry," he muttered, embarrassed. "Sorry, I'm just sorry, for everything."

Freddy shook her head. Oh, she shouldn't have carried on like this! She must look like a blubbering idiot. Like a whiny fool. "No, it's all right. I shouldn't even be bothering you with this nonsense."

"You're not bothering me, Freddy. Didn't I tell you that if you ever needed to talk you could come to me?" Crane smiled softly. "I believe there is something to be said for a cathartic experience."

Freddy, however, still felt uncomfortable discussing Quirrell. Sniffling, she forced a grin onto her face. "Leave it to a Healer to talk about purging and what-not."

"I suppose," Crane laughed quietly. "But, if anything, I think I understand you better."

"Humph, save your breath. I'm a mystery, even to myself and that certainly is not flippancy on my part," Freddy replied, clenching her hands on her lap.

Crane leaned forward, planting his elbows on his desk. "Do you miss him?"

"My fiancé? Yes." She hoped he wouldn't ask her anymore. They were treading into dangerous waters as it was and Freddy was feeling particular sensitive that evening. _So_ _much for all my false bravado_, she thought wryly. _I'm still a bloody chicken_.

Crane seemed to sense her reticent mood and fell silent. The wavering voice of the soprano alone filled the office, accompanied, oddly enough, by a glass harmonica. Freddy found herself listening to the aria, familiar as it was, with its manically high trills and discordant ornamentations.

_Ohimè, sorge il tremendo fantasma e ne separa!*_

"What's this?" she asked. "Is she singing about a phantom? A ghost?"

Crane raised his eyebrows appreciatively. "You speak Italian?"

"A little," Freddy answered, feeling shy all of sudden. "After I graduated from Hogwarts I briefly contemplated applying to the University of Turin and at the time it seemed like a good idea to pick up some Italian."

"What happened?"

"I changed my mind."

"Ah."

Freddy turned her head and gazed at the old record player. "So is she really singing about a ghost?"

"Yes." Crane rose from his chair, scratching his chin and headed over to the player. Next to it was an empty record slip-cover and he held it out for her inspection.

Freddy stood and crossed closer to him to get a better look. The artwork was rather disturbing, a woman in a wedding gown wielding a bloodied dagger. "Lucia di Lammermoor," she said, reading the title. "Is that by Verdi?"

"Donizetti," Crane corrected her. "The aria you're listening to is infamous-_Il Dolce Suono_, better known as the 'Mad Scene'."

"That's cheerful," Freddy muttered, leaning forward on her tiptoes to watch the record spin beneath the needle.

Crane shifted his weight behind her. "Lucia, the lead soprano, goes mad during the third act after marrying a man she doesn't love. On her wedding night, she fatally stabs her groom and then descends a rather well-placed staircase to face her guests, still wearing her bloodstained bridal gown."

"Geez." A chill ran it's fingers along Freddy's spine. The soprano was wailing, her voice trembling and pained. The music made Freddy's blood freeze and she stood perfectly still, unaware of just how close Crane had drawn to her.

_Al fin son tua, al fin sei mio*_

When she turned around at last, his lips were brushing against hers…

Freddy jumped and leapt backward, knocking the needle off the record and causing a high-pitched, scratching sound.

"Oh my God, oh my God."

For a moment, she had almost kissed Crane back.

He seemed to realize his mistake at once, seemed to realize that the intimacy he had created was not entirely shared by her.

"Freddy," he groaned, dropping his hand over his face. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

But she was already out the door, out into the hall. Into the dark.

_Poor Lucia_, she couldn't help but think as she raced back up the stairs._ Poor, poor Lucia.  
_

**

* * *

**

Author's Note:

I think this was the first chapter I plotted of "Breathless" and, although I rarely say this, it has to be one of my favorites. Hopefully, this chapter allows for a clearer view of Crane's motives. I know he's come off as stalker-ish in past chapters, although he's really just terribly awkward and socially inept.

As always, I would like to thank all my wonderful readers and reviewers for their continued support

The next chapter is in the works and should be posted soon. Take care!

Italian Translations:

_Il dolce suono mi colpì di sua voce! : The sweet sound of his voice struck me! _

_Ah, quella voce m'è qui nel cor discesa! : Ah, that voice has entered my heart!_

_Ohimè, sorge il tremendo fantasma e ne separa! : Alas, the tremendous phantom arises and separates us!_

_Al fin son tua, al fin sei mio : At last I am yours, at last you are mine_

*These lines come directly from Donizett's aria, _Il Dolce Suono_, featured in his opera, _Lucia di Lammermoor. _


	9. Chapter Nine Puzzled

**Disclaimer:** I claim no ownership of Rowling's work. However, all OCs mentioned herein belong to me.

**Medical Disclaimer:** Much of this story revolves around the infectious disease, tuberculosis and its treatment. The methods I have described in this story are a mixture of both modern regimens and outdated procedures from the heyday of the sanatorium. For the purpose of this story, the main character contracts and suffers from a strain of multi-drug resistant tuberculosis found only in "wizards", therefore, her experience may differ from the experience of a "muggle" with the same disease. Finally, I am not a physician. My statements regarding tuberculosis, although thoroughly researched, should not be taken as actual medical facts.

**Chapter Nine Puzzled **

Sometime during the night, the weather took a turn for the worse. Standing by her open window, Freddy counted ten heartbeats between the first rumble of thunder and the subsequent lightning strike. Seven heartbeats brought the storm over the distant church spire. Five and it was on the hospital grounds. She decided not to wait for three, two and one, sensibly shutting her window just as rain began to slash the brick façade of the sanatorium.

Freddy harbored a perfectly normal dislike for thunderstorms. Family legend had it that her great-great grandmother had lingered too long near an open window during just such a gale and a bolt of lightning had picked her off her feet and thrown her clear through to the next room. And even though Jenny Fotherby had lived well into her nineties, (without a trace of remaining electrical charge about her) Freddy wasn't keen on aiding "lightning strike" to her own list of maladies.

Unfortunately, the storm now rattling the hospital windows would not oblige her deference. It stayed on until dawn before finally passing away into the hill country, where it only wept the pretty tears of a morning shower. The sun came out then, and burned off the last of the rain droplets and the crickets started chirping the melody of a sultry summer day way down in the gardens. And Freddy, daring to sit in her chair by the window once more, couldn't help but think of a song she'd heard once in a pub in Glasgow.

_I see a bad moon arising_

_I see trouble on the way_

_I see earthquakes and lighting_

_I see bad times today*_

She was trying to hum the chorus when Nurse Jenkins stepped through the door with her usual tray of paper cups.

"Oh goodness, professor," she said, starting a little when she noticed Freddy sitting up and not tucked into bed. "Did you sleep at all last night?"

"Umm, not really." Freddy chewed sheepishly on her lower lip, wondering just what the nurse would say if she told her she'd been down to see Healer Crane and that Crane, for all his perfect, boyish charm, had tried to kiss her.

Because all that business was certainly against sanatorium rules.

"Then you should have come down to the nurse's station and asked for a sleeping draught." Jenkins balanced her tray on her hip and handed Freddy a paper cup. "That's what we're here for, remember."

"Yeah, well," Freddy replied, poking a finger into the cup to stir up the pills, "last time I asked you for a little murtlap to stop the crushing pain in my chest, you said no…so forgive me for being shy."

Jenkins looked floored and she even took a step back, her head held high on her stiff neck. Freddy had never given the sanatorium staff any trouble, even when they poked at her with needles and prodded her chest with stethoscopes and insisted she whittle her life away in the cold torment of a dank, drab hospital.

And somehow, Freddy found it in herself to feel guilty now. "Sorry," she murmured stiffly. "I'm really not myself this morning…the storm kept me awake and I just heard that thunder all night, _all_ bloody night."

"That's all right." Jenkins watched as she swallowed her pills. "You can get some rest this afternoon. Healer Crane has a meeting with the board of directors and he won't be seeing any patients. If you need a healer, we'll ring someone up from another ward."

"Oh," was all Freddy could say. She didn't know whether she should feel relieved or not. Crane wouldn't be darkening her doorway today, all pale and fumbling and adorably apologetic. And she wouldn't have to battle past her embarrassment and tell him just how horrible she felt now and that she didn't want to be his patient anymore.

Because he was being very unfair.

It was downright inconsiderate for him to have placed her in such an exceptionally awkward position. Part of Freddy wondered if she wasn't the first patient he had pursued. Perhaps there were others, numerous love affairs and secret trysts. After all, no one could deny that Crane was handsome and uncommonly charismatic. It would only make sense if…

But no. If there was one thing Freddy had learned since coming down with TB, it was not to delude herself. She'd seen the look on his face when he'd tried to kiss her. It was one of perfect naivety and dashed hope and regret. This was not something he did often, she decided. And for some strange reason, he had singled her out.

There lay another quandary. Why her? She was a sickly woman, waiting on her health to improve so that she could return to the only job she'd ever had. Outside of Hogwarts, her life was haphazard and chaotic. She had no permanent residence and spent most of her time out of the country. There was nothing about her that suggested the promise and success Crane himself seemed to stand for. By all means, she certainly shouldn't be his type.

And was Crane _her _type? Freddy couldn't bring herself to consider the notion without grimacing. After Quirrell's death, the thought of getting involved with and possibly marrying another man seemed highly questionable. Even if the opportunity had rolled around, she could have never laid herself open to such heartbreak again. But were things different now?

And for some reason, she started to think of Remus Lupin.

After Nurse Jenkins left, Freddy spent some time organizing her books and scattered, literary paraphernalia. She decided not to lie to herself this time, admitting her need for a distraction from all that had happened…and all she feared might come. It had been a long while since she'd actually sat down and worked on anything relating to her particular academic field. Lately, her tastes had ranged more to the light, breezy novels women took with them to the beach or out into the garden when they wanted a break for reality. Freddy, however, had never been apt at losing herself in whimsical reverie. Instead, she lugged out several scholarly texts and an old notebook she'd kept traces of research written down in.

It had been at least eight months since she'd published an article. Her colleagues in the field of International Magic must think she might be dead…or perhaps they'd heard about her recent health troubles and hadn't bothered to send along any get well wishes.

Feeling vindictive, Freddy took her journal and a book on the magic of the American South with her to the solarium, intent on starting something, _anything_ that had to do with the wider world beyond the sanatorium. Her last article, a profile on Hoodoo magic in New Orleans, had been well received and the editor had even hinted at the possibility of a sister article relating to the Haitian traditions. Freddy honestly didn't know much about Haiti, but she thought it was worth a shot. If worse came to worst, she could always owl several of her academic acquaintances and borrow some of their books for research.

The thought of starting work on a project made her feel healthy for once. Productive. And if she was healthy and productive and _distracted_, then maybe she wouldn't have to think about Crane.

But then reality hit her and panicking, breathless, she had to stop and lean on a wall while on her way to the solarium.

Oh God, oh God, what was she going to do about Crane?

* * *

Much to Freddy's surprise, the solarium was empty. The bird cage in corner was still covered with a length of white linen that looked suspiciously like a hospital issued bed sheet and a lone woman lounged on a chaise near the back wall, dozing with a half-finished afghan on her lap. In the center of the room a man sat at one of the round tables, his back to Freddy. He had on a light blue tailored shirt and clean grey slacks. The jigsaw puzzle on the table before him was barely started.

As she sat herself by one of the tall windows, Freddy wondered why she shouldn't be happy to be left alone. Socializing with the other patients had never been one of her top priorities and she didn't want to be bothered now just when she was starting to work again.

But she could have used someone to talk to at that moment. Just a friendly chat, nothing more. She needn't spill her guts and confess her confusion over Crane. Talking about the weather would be just fine with her. After all, they'd had one hell of a storm last night.

Rubbing her eyes, she realized she had a slight headache and tried to focus on the page numbers as she flipped open her book to a page detailing the Hoodoo ritual for raising the dead. She wasn't quite sure what angle she should approach this article from…maybe something about immigration patterns reflecting increasing magical diversity in the American South. If she was ambitious, she could trace it all back to the appropriate countries of origin and finish it off in a nice, neat circle. Freddy liked it when things came full circle. It gave her a sense of satisfaction and strangely, comfort, to know that…

"I would have never believed it! Freddy Fotherby, are you still here?"

The voice that reached across the room to her was that of the young man, but now he had turned around in his chair and was facing her fully, with a little, cheeky grin on his lips.

Freddy felt her book fall from her hand and hit her slippered feet. "Oliver Lias?"

The first thing she could remember feeling, after overcoming her shock of seeing Lias in the sanatorium, was guilt. Extreme, unrelenting guilt.

Oliver Lias had owned an antique shop in Hogsmeade that Freddy often frequented. Last year, when the Ministry had stationed Dementors in the village to protect the students from escaped convict Sirius Black, Lias had headed a committee of local business owners that protested the presence of Azkaban's unsavory guards. Because of her familiarity with Lias, Freddy had been asked by Dumbledore himself to act as a liaison between the committee and Hogwarts, although her interactions with the man had unexpected results.

She'd given him TB. Just like she'd given it to three of her students, Meg Carlisle, Cass Roderick and Hermione Granger. And now Lias, a successful young man and an otherwise thrifty businessman, was sharing the solarium with her.

Freddy thought she might as well die.

"I'm so sorry," she said, before she could even think to stop herself. "How bad is it, Oliver?"

But Lias only looked confused. He shook his head slightly and offered her a genuine smile. "You don't seem happy to see me, Freddy, but I must say, I'm thrilled to see you! They told me you had it bad…that they'd removed one of your lungs and everything. But you look well. Wonderful, really. I'm so glad you're making out all right."

She accepted a quick hug from him, still unable to swallow the bitter guilt that clogged her mind and made her tongue as heavy as lead. "Haha, yes, I suppose I've been lucky. Losing a lung isn't so bad as long as you have your life. But I'm not happy to see you because, well, because you're _here_," she replied. "And if you're here, that means you're still sick."

Lias hunched his shoulders slightly, taking on a sheepish position. Despite his humble posture, he still had the look of a gentleman, a man of money and manners and polite tea-time conversation. "It's not what you think," he said. "I wasn't half as sick as you, Freddy. In fact, after they let me out of St. Mungo's I went to Florida for a while. I, er, had someone to take care of me."

Still trembling from the shock of seeing him, Freddy bent her knees and groped for the book she'd drop. "You have family in the States?"

"In a manner of speaking." Lias ran one hand over his neck. "If I'm remembering correctly, didn't we once swap love stories some time ago? You told me your fiancé had passed on, I told you mine had run off with an American Quidditch player. Well, it turns out I am may have jumped the gun a bit on that one. Cecilia and I are getting married in November."

Freddy's bottom hit the chair as disappointment kicked her feet out from under her. "Congratulations." She tried to smile for him, she truly did, but in the end, selfishness won out. Lias had always been a bit of a flirt and he'd expressed a certain interest in her whenever Freddy had visited his shop back in Hogsmeade. She had never paid much mind to him, of course, but now that she was here, in the hospital, completely alone, with Crane expressing an uncomfortable amount of affection towards her, she was disappointed to hear that Oliver Lias was engaged.

"Then why are you here?" Freddy asked again. She knew she was being rude, not inquiring after this Cecilia and their repaired romance, but she didn't think she could stomach such a conversation just now. "Have you had a relapse? Are you…are you that sick, Oliver?"

Lias finally seemed to understand what she was driving at and sympathy etched faint lines around his smiling eyes. "No, I'm all right, Freddy. The potion they've been giving me…I'm sure it's the same one you've been getting…it has some nasty side-effects. I've lost weight. I'm dehydrated. They say I'm anemic and if I'm going to get rid of the last of the TB, they need to have me in a stable environment where they can monitor my weight and blood count and, oh, you know what I'm talking about, don't you?"

Freddy bit her lip, looking over Lias's shoulder at the birdcage. The woman who had been dozing with her crocheting sprawled out over her lap was awake now and fussing with the linen cover on the cage. "You're telling me the truth then?" she asked.

"Yes." Lias feigned exasperation, sinking down into the chair on the opposite side of Freddy's table. "You've really changed, haven't you? It's this place, isn't it?"

"No." Suddenly, she found herself blushing. "I'm…I'm still the same. I just can't bear the thought of you being stuck in here because of me. If I'd been quicker about things, if I would've paid more attention…"

"So it _is_ this place." Lias looked over at her, his eyes perfectly discerning.

Freddy flinched under his gaze.

"You're very skittish," he noted.

She looked down at the table, dropping her book next to her right elbow. "Sorry. Am I making you uncomfortable? I am, aren't I? Sorry. It's just…I haven't really had anyone to talk to and being here has been like living in a cave. I wasn't a social creature to begin with, you know. I'm so glad you are all right, though, even if you do have to stay here for a while. Who…who is you're healer?"

Lias continued to stare at her, as if trying to convince himself that she really was the same old Freddy. "Elliot," he said lightly. "He's a nice man. Has a great sense of humor. I asked him about you when I got here last week. He said something about patient confidentiality and all that. Nonsense, if you ask me. I only wanted to find out if my friend was still alive."

_Friend_. Freddy nearly jumped at the word. Surprisingly, she found herself suffused with a pleasant warmth that had nothing to do with the mid-morning sun coming through the long windows.

"I like Elliot too," she replied, happy to have something easy to talk about. "He isn't my healer, though. He works on the men's ward."

"Ah, that's right," Lias sat back in his chair. "You're with Crane, aren't you?"

"Yeah, Healer Crane." And as she spoke, the warmth was replaced with searing heat.

Crane, who played opera records in his office and stared at her with such improper intensity.

_Ugh_.

"He's the Healer-in-Chief, isn't he?" Lias asked. He had his hands folded across his middle and was twiddling his thumbs. "Smart man. They say he's the best in his field."

Freddy realized that her throat was painfully dry. She coughed into her sleeve. "Yeah, but, I don't really like him."

"Really?" Lias looked intrigued now. "That's strange. I heard he was very nice. All the patients seem to adore him."

"Uh.." She picked up her book once more and stacked it on top of her journal. "It's not that he isn't nice, but…we have different personalities…you know…it's just…"

But fortunately, Lias seemed to understand her completely. "Of course," he said with a slight nod. "But it's not like you have to marry the man. He's only your healer."

And to that, Freddy had absolutely no response. The parakeets had been disturbed from their slumber and she heard them singing shrilly from the corner of the room. The woman was back on her lounge chair, her crochet hook flashing in the sunlight.

"I'm jealous of you," she said, not expecting to sound as serious as she did. "You've been spending your time in sunny Florida while I've been stuck in Yorkshire. At least tell me you haven't sold your shop in Hogsmeade."

"No, I have a cousin looking after things," he replied. "I just couldn't stay in drizzly Scotland while waiting to get better. You know what it's like, Freddy," he said, a hint of sudden communion in his eyes, "when you have to get away."

And she did understand. Perfectly. "Like I said," she said. "I'm jealous."

Lias did not respond, but only nodded with a small smile. For a moment, Freddy allowed herself to imagine what it would be like to be in Florida. Or absolutely anywhere else, for that matter.

She couldn't ever remember staying put for so long.

Freddy blinked. She had been sitting in companionable silence with Lias. Comfortable. Quiet. At ease. There had been no demands made of her, no need for chatter or jokes or laughter. And she wasn't alone. She didn't have to face the numbing awkwardness of sidling in and out of the room by herself, hoping that no one would notice her and, at the same time, secretly hoping she could have a friend.

Without knowing it, Freddy released the breath she had been holding for a very long time.

Turning in her chair, she smiled at Lias. "Is that a jigsaw puzzle your doing?" she asked.

"Yes," he snorted, rolling his eyes. "But I think it's missing a few pieces. I can't even finish the border."

"Bet I can," Freddy replied.

Lias offered her a questioning look as he rose and headed back over to his table. He glanced once at the puzzle and once at her and broke out in a wide grin. "Ha! I'd like to see you try."

* * *

**Author's Note: **I'm so sorry it took me forever to update this story! Fall was not a very productive season for me, due to a sudden attack of appendicitis which put me on the sidelines for a while. However, I did manage to get a bunch of new chapters written and should have my stories updated regularly for now on. Thanks for your patience!

Yes, Mr. Lias is finally back. I know some of you were wondering if and when he would turn up again. Needless to say, I wasn't content to let him fade away unnoticed after _Consumed_.

As always, thanks so much for taking the time to read. If you have a spare moment, please leave a review. I would absolutely love to hear from you. Take care!

_*Lyrics taken from "Bad Moon Rising" by Creedence Clearwater Revival, written by John Fogerty. _


	10. Chapter Ten Old Habits

**Disclaimer:** I claim no ownership of Rowling's work. However, all OCs mentioned herein belong to me.

**Medical Disclaimer:** Much of this story revolves around the infectious disease, tuberculosis and its treatment. The methods I have described in this story are a mixture of both modern regimens and outdated procedures from the heyday of the sanatorium. For the purpose of this story, the main character contracts and suffers from a strain of multi-drug resistant tuberculosis found only in "wizards", therefore, her experience may differ from the experience of a "muggle" with the same disease. Finally, I am not a physician. My statements regarding tuberculosis, although thoroughly researched, should not be taken as actual medical facts.

**Chapter Ten Old Habits**

"Wait, wait, you need to hear this," Oliver put down his fork and raised the bimonthly sanatorium newsletter to eye level. The dog-eared pages, now bereft of their crispness, drooped sadly like wasted autumn leaves. "_In response to receiving generous donations from the Society for Magical Medical Advancement and the British Healer's Guild_," he read, "_the Yorkshire Wizarding Sanatorium for Consumptives has purchased no less than twenty houses from the nearby village, and restored them as handsome brownstones for housing staff, and the family members of patients on the children's ward. Healer-in-chief Calum Crane issued a statement to the press last Tuesday, citing-"_

Freddy reached across the table, pulling down the edge of the newsletter so that she could look Oliver in the eyes. "That's all old news, I'm afraid," she said. "Everyone knows about the new housing…the ribbon cutting ceremony is this weekend."

Oliver frowned and took his time deliberately folding the newsletter. "Well, unless you renew your subscription to the _Daily_ _Prophet_ we'll have nothing else to talk about."

"Renew your's," Freddy muttered, dipping her spoon into her lemon custard, "and to be honest, you don't have the right to be so grumpy. You've only been here a month, after all."

But Oliver smiled pleasantly. "I'm _never_ grumpy." He laughed then, but the sound of it was carried away, and thrown into the obnoxious mix of noise that filled the patient dining hall.

Although Freddy had only been granted the privilege of taking her meals with the general patient population for two weeks, (after a new set of x-rays proved her condition to be markedly improved) she had quickly learned to tolerate the almost constant chatter that crowded against the wood paneled walls. In fact, it almost reminded her of the Great Hall at Hogwarts, and despite her previous, practiced indifference, Freddy was sorely missing the school.

She'd been in the sanatorium for nearly six months now.

Which was why Oliver _had_ no right to complain.

But he didn't complain. Not really. Only teased her. Only kept her company. Only acted as a barrier between herself and Crane….

Freddy spooned the last of the custard into her mouth. Oliver didn't know it, but she was certain that his constant presence by her side had kept Crane from openly approaching her. It was a blessing indeed, considering that when she did see her healer, there was always a nurse or an orderly in the room with them, and Crane kept the conversation restricted to the state of her remaining lung.

Freddy was just about regaining her sense of security, and oh, what a relief it was!

Sometimes, she felt almost giddy.

Placing her spoon next to the empty bowl, Freddy dropped her chin onto the palm of her hand. "All right, all right," she said in a conciliatory tone, "we'll find some fresh news to talk about." Glancing down the long table at the pair of women sitting a few feet away from them, Freddy leaned forward and with a whisper, said to Oliver, "Did you hear that the patients and their families are invited to the ribbon cutting ceremony? It should be a big turn out."

"My God." Oliver only just refrained from rolling his eyes. "The invitations were sent out three days ago, who doesn't know that?"

"See?" Freddy nodded. "Unless you renew your subscription to the _Daily Prophet_-"

"Very nice."

"It gets old fast, doesn't it?"

Oliver agreed, but wouldn't meet her eyes. Looking at the surface of the long table, he ran his fingers over the polished wood. "I once sold a table like this in my shop," he said, managing to keep most of the regret from his voice, "Some eccentric woman from Bath bought it. Apparently, she was known for her dinner parties."

"And I once camped out on a beach in Greece for two nights," Freddy said, all too willing to commiserate. Being in the sanatorium gave them ample time to reflect on the good old days, which always seemed much happier in hindsight. If Freddy had been remembering correctly, she would have recalled how upset she'd been when all of her clothes were nearly ruined by the sand.

She glanced at Oliver and saw how bored he seemed, almost as bored as she was before she'd learned to lower her expectations, and entertain herself with the most trivial subjects.

"Is Cecilia coming this weekend?" she asked, hoping to cheer him up.

Reluctantly, Oliver appeared to pull himself back to reality. "Yes, though she might be a little late. She has to-"

The sound of a dog barking interrupted him, and those who had lingered in the dining hall while lunch was winding down turned to look at the open doors leading out into a corridor.

Freddy instantly recognized the Healer in the white robes. A handsome Irish Setter was sitting at Crane's feet, wagging his tail as his master tried to keep him out in the corridor.

"No, Finn, stay here. You're not even supposed to be out of my office."

It amused the other patients to see the Healer-in-Chief so flagrantly breaking the sanatorium rules by bringing his dog into the dining hall.

Freddy, however, was not impressed. She already knew that Crane wasn't one to stick to his own laws.

"Hey, can I see the newsletter?" she asked Oliver, reaching impolitely across the table.

"Of course." He raised his eyebrows as he handed it to her. "If you're thinking of doing the crossword puzzle on page eight, don't bother. I already tried it last night."

The paper felt dry and brittle in Freddy's hands. She forced herself to find a smile for Oliver. "What's a five letter word for a tropical fruit? Please, don't tell me you couldn't come up with mango."

Much to her distress, the smooth tenor of Crane's voice issued easily over the dining room, making it difficult to keep her attention pinned on Oliver.

Freddy was hoping, _praying_, that she might get away with being noticed that afternoon. There were, after all, plenty of other patients in the dining room for Crane to bother. Unfortunately, the persistent gnawing in her gut told her that the healer had a specific mission in mingling so freely with the sanatorium population today.

In response to the threat, she buried her nose in the newsletter, covering her face as much as she dared. The smell of old ink was reassuring, blotting out her own sense of complete dread.

_Please, oh please, just leave me alone!_

Freddy knew, however, the moment she heard Oliver push back his chair, that hers was a lost cause. Admitting defeat to herself, she laid down the newsletter just as Crane drew even with their table.

"Healer Crane." Oliver was half-rising already, his hand outstretched.

Crane shook it firmly. "Good afternoon, Mr. Lias. And Professor Fotherby. It's nice to see you both up and about."

Freddy replied by shaking his hand. Much to her surprise, she found the Healer's palm to be slightly damp with sweat.

Wanting to avoid even the possibility of an awkward silence, she jumped headlong into a neutral conversation. "I suppose I never got a chance to congratulate you on the addition of new housing to the sanatorium," she said evenly.

Crane, who Freddy noticed was wearing not his usual pastels, but rather outfitted in a burgundy shirt and grey tie, smiled brightly when she addressed him. "Yes, the sanatorium property is becoming a little village in its own right. I assume you'll both be coming to the ribbon cutting ceremony next weekend, yes? I'm really looking forward to it."

"Should be fun," Freddy said, the muscles in her jaw tightening as she spoke.

God, this was awful. Just awful. She couldn't go on like this. Couldn't go on living in such, in such….in such what? Annoyance? Fear? Frustration? A combination of the three would do, she decided. Or maybe she was none of those things.

Maybe she was just….

"I heard there will be live music," Oliver said.

"Mmm." Crane slipped his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. "Yes, we hired a jazz band. I really wanted a string quartet, but Healer Elliot was very much against it. He thinks my taste in music is dull."

"I don't know." Oliver shrugged his shoulders. "My fiancée is trying to talk me into getting a jazz band for our wedding, but it seems like such an expense."

"They don't come cheap," Crane replied with a knowing nod, "not unless you take a risk with amateurs."

Small talk. Small talk. Freddy almost couldn't stand it. She crossed her leg over her knee, then shifted, planting both her feet on the ground. But she was uncomfortable still.

Crane always wore the same cologne.

"I heard some great jazz in New Orleans when I was there last year," she put in, cringing when she realized how high her voice sounded. "And believe me, that's saying something. I never liked jazz, but I can make an exception for New Orleans."

Oliver grinned, showing her all of his teeth. "It's not fair. The world traveler always wins out. Give those of us that would rather remain at home some credit."

"Oh, but I do like to travel," Crane said suddenly. For a brief instant, he glanced at Freddy and the look in his eyes convinced her that things were still not settled between them.

The longing, which she had ignored in him before, was still there.

"If only I had the time," Crane continued, "I should like to…oh, wait. Finn. Finn, be quiet!"

_Bless that dog for barking his head off_, Freddy thought. _Come on, Finn. Keep at it!_

"Sorry." Crane appeared charmingly harassed. "He's due for a walk. I've got to be going. I hope I see you two this weekend. Take care!"

And just like that it was over. Crane hurried out of the dining hall, earning more than his fair share of worshipful looks from his patients. When he was gone and Finn's barking had faded into the distance, Oliver turned to stare at Freddy.

His lips, she noticed, were white.

"Freddy," he said, touching her shoulder urgently, "what the hell is going on?"

* * *

"You can keep quiet all you want," Oliver said, as they sat on one of the solarium porches at sunset. "But there will come a time when you have to answer for yourself."

Freddy put down her book on _Common Spells of the West Indies_ and tried her best not to look annoyed. Dusk was nearly upon them, and she couldn't pretend to make out the tiny print in the fading light for much longer.

"Answer to what?" she asked her friend.

Oliver, who was stretched on the chaise lounge beside her, rolled over onto his hip. "Your obvious hatred of Healer Crane."

"Hate is a very strong word. I could never hate anyone."

"But you don't like him at all."

"Yes. I told you that when I first ran into you here." Sighing, she folded down the corner of the page she was on and shut the book. "It's really nice out here tonight."

And indeed, the touch of a mild breeze on her cheek felt sublime. Freddy understood then why the porches off the solarium were so popular amongst her fellow patients. One was hard put to snag a free chair in nice weather, and although she had had several opportunities to sit outdoors in the past, Freddy had often avoided the porches. It was awkward, she thought, to plop herself down on the fringe of a couple's conversation, or to inadvertently interrupt a gaggle of women discussing the latest romance novel to hit the shelves.

But now, she had Oliver with her, and his company gave her a free pass to enjoy some of the pleasanter aspects of life at the sanatorium. And she'd be damned if he was going to turn into a grump now and ruin her fragile peace of mind.

"You know it's summer when the sun goes down and you can still tolerate being outside without a sweater," Freddy said, hoping that if she rambled on enough, her friend would become distracted.

Fortune, however, had never really been her ally.

"I won't lie to you," he said, his expression so open and frank that Freddy felt as though she were the nosey one. "I _am _curious about all this. And I don't mean to call you ungrateful…but you do realize that Healer Crane saved your life, yes?"

Freddy's nails ran across the hardcover of her closed book. "Of course. I appreciate all of his help, but he is getting paid, you know. I have good health insurance."

"Oh my." Oliver turned his glance to the grounds of the sanatorium laid out before them. A few of the gardeners were still working, busy trimming the lawns and sweeping the stone paths in preparation for the weekend's celebration. "You never struck me as the callous type, Freddy. Don't tell me your good humor is just a ruse."

"Oliver!" She was very close to being offended. "I'm not…you shouldn't judge people like that."

Much to her relief, he was quick to recant. "I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to be flippant, but I am exceedingly curious. Everyone seems to like Crane so much-"

"And he likes me!" Freddy blurted out, and then instantly hated herself. She blushed, feeling the consumptive fever touch her temples. What she had said couldn't be taken back, and even though Oliver certainly wasn't a gossip, he _was _smart enough to understand what she meant.

And just as she had suspected, he drew back, his features narrowing. "I…"

"Oh, I'm going to have to explain myself," she muttered. Her hands were now folded over the lip of her book, the knuckles white even in the long shadows of twilight.

"If you really don't want to-"

"No, it's all right. Maybe…maybe I'll feel better," Freddy trailed off helplessly, even more unsure of herself. "It's…well, I hate saying this…but…Crane kissed me. A couple of weeks ago."

Oliver looked thoroughly uncomfortable now, but to his credit, he plowed on. "Wait…where exactly was this?"

"In his office. I went down one night to see him. We'd had a fight and I wanted to apologize. Healer Elliot was there at first. We were just laughing and joking…but when Elliot left, Crane and I started to talk about serious stuff. I told him about Quirrell. He was very kind. And then he kissed me."

"On the cheek?"

"On the lips. And…well, I suppose I almost returned his kiss, but that was only because I was thinking of Quirrell."

"God." Oliver sat back, pinching the bridge of his nose. The sun had sank behind the western horizon and it was now dark. Patches of light from the sanatorium windows blotted the lawn. The summer stars were bright.

Freddy waited, agonized by her confession, as Oliver appeared to think things over.

"We probably shouldn't be talking about this," he said at length. "I don't…I don't really know what to say. My mother was good at this stuff. So is Cecilia. Women always know what to say, but I suppose I could try to be brotherly." He offered her a tense, pinched smile. "Let me start by being frank, then. You are in a romantic relationship with Healer Crane."

Freddy opened her mouth to deny the accusation, but Oliver continued hastily before she could.

"This isn't high school, darling," he said sharply. "You're thirty-one years old. No one is trying to be coy or cruel. You're bickering with Crane, then going down to his office in the middle of the night to apologize to him…what did he say after he kissed you?"

"Nothing, I left right away."

"And he hasn't addressed it since?"

"I haven't given him the chance," she said, quickly adding, "but Oliver, you're wrong. Completely wrong. We are not _involved-_ugh, I hate that word! I'm certainly not playing some girlish game of 'catch me if you can' with him. I have so much more to worry about right now."

The warmth in her voice seemed to leave him cowed. Oliver raised his hand in a pacifying gesture.

"I can't read your mind, Freddy," he said slowly. "And I'm willing to take your word for it. But you should be honest with yourself. Have you ever really thought about this-"

"Of course I have!"

"Have you ever really taken the time to examine your feelings on the matter?"

Freddy bit her tongue. "Yes. I can't see why he would be attracted to me in the first place."

"That's different." Oliver shook his head. "You're thinking about him, not yourself."

"I…" she began, but fell silent. "I…"

"I thought so," Oliver responded, then dropped the subject entirely.

* * *

The next morning, Freddy had time enough to herself to think over her meeting with Crane, and Oliver's subsequent observations. Her friend had gone off sometime after breakfast to get some lab work done, and she was glad, for once, to be left alone by him.

Although she had tried to make it clear that she wasn't offended by his nosiness, Freddy did feel the need to get away from Oliver for a while. He had given her many things to think about, and she was determined to have everything sorted out in her mind by lunch time. The whole matter, she thought, was unbelievably stupid. Oliver had certainly been right about that. Life wasn't a game anymore, and she couldn't defer her awkward situation with Crane to be resolved in the hazy, indefinite future. Freddy had come too close to death to not seize an opportunity to give herself peace of mind in the present. She would decide, once and for all, just how she felt about Crane's advances, and be done with the issue.

Old habits, however, were the absolute worst kind of lichen, growing onto the living, and ceasing to quit even their gravestones.

While Freddy intended to put things right in her mind, she found herself distracted by the obvious comforts of a pleasant day. Taking herself out onto one of the solarium porches (and trying her best to ignore the crowds) she sat for a time in the sun, putting the finishing touches on her article on Haitian hoodoo. She had a publisher lined up, and was looking forward to seeing her name in print once more. And, of course, there was the added bonus of proving that she was still alive and well to her esteemed colleagues in the field of International Magic.

She'd been at her work for a while, completely forgetting her original purpose, when a long shadow fell across her lap.

"You're working again! I should say that's a good sign."

Minerva McGonagall sidled through the narrow space between Freddy's chair and the occupied one on her right, her natural, feline grace still bearing up well under age.

"Professor!" Excitement drove Freddy to her feet, not sense. In the cramped quarters, she knocked knees with the Deputy Headmistress, and nearly upset her inkwell. "I wasn't expecting you, but this is a wonderful surprise! Everything's all right, I hope?"

"Hmm." McGonagall arched an eyebrow, one steady hand unfastening the cloak clasp by her throat. "Morbid, Forbia, you are still morbid. Must you always leap to the wrong conclusion?"

"Sorry." Freddy smiled bashfully even as she tried to gather up her papers. "I'm not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, certainly not these days. I'm so happy to see you!"

"You look exceedingly well," the old professor stated. But then she paused, glanced around the crowded porch, and found the eyes of no less than five other patients fastened on her. "Can we go indoors? The sun is beastly and there's no awning to give shade."

"Of course." Freddy, playing the hostess as best she could in such a place, led McGonagall inside the solarium where they easily found a pair of chairs in a discreet corner by the bookcase.

"You received my last letter," Freddy prattled on eagerly as they settled themselves. "I'm going to have another article published. Here, it's right here!" She fumbled with the papers for a moment before finding the right one and handing it to the professor. "You can read it, if you like. It's about Haitian hoodoo. I think I _might_ like it, but to be honest, I'm getting sick of hoodoo. I think it's time I tried something on the Continent…or maybe even Canada. Do you think the students would be receptive to Canada, or is it too much like England?"

"My word!" McGonagall pushed her spectacles up her nose and glanced at the papers briefly. "You _are_ feeling better. The summer air has taken the pallor from your cheeks and given you a bonny blush."

"Bonny," Freddy repeated, making sure to emphasize her Scottish lilt. "I haven't been called bonny in quite some time."

But then she remembered Crane and her gut twisted.

McGonagall, however, was too busy perusing the papers to notice her consternation.

"But this is all superficial," she said after a moment of silent reading. "What do the healers say of your health? Have you improved?"

"Mmm." Freddy folded her hands together, feeling giddy. "The hole in my right lung has shrunk…it's almost gone. And they think my next sputum test might be negative. I need three negative tests before I can be released. Keep your fingers crossed! Maybe I can get out in time for the second half of the fall semester."

McGonagall hesitated, her lips pursing. "You might be rushing things."

"I want to go back to teaching."

"You will, you will. But shouldn't you have some more time to recover? We weren't expecting you back for another year, at least."

"Another year!" The notion was entirely alien to Freddy. She sat back in her wicker chair, surprised by the utter desperation she felt. Oh, how she wanted to go back to Hogwarts and teach again! And yet, was it not a year ago that she was dreading her return to the castle? Did she not often profess her own incompetence with her students? Did she not sometimes wonder if she should quit?

No. Getting ill had taught Freddy many things, not least of all that she loved teaching…and happened to be quite good at it as well.

"I think I might go insane if I remain an invalid for another year," Freddy said seriously.

McGonagall handed back the pages, her face reverting to its usual stern expression. "You have come a long way, Forbia, but you mustn't become self-destructive now."

Hmm, so McGonagall was just as intent to pick apart her psyche as Oliver. Freddy didn't want to appear annoyed at her old professor and mentor, although she thought it might be best if the conversation was steered in a different direction.

"Trust me," she said, hoping to put the issue to rest, "I listen to the healers now…I've learned my lesson."

"I should think so," McGonagall said, but her eyes were still suspicious. Fortunately, she seemed just as eager to talk of happy things as Freddy was. "And by the way, I am pleased that you are working again. It certainly is a step in the right direction."

Freddy's relief was immeasurable as the Deputy Headmistress departed from her scolding manner, and instead, chatted lightly on all things inconsequential. She spent a good hour catching up on the doings of her fellow staff members, some of which were more mundane than spending a summer in a sanatorium.

"Flitwick always goes to his family in Ireland," Freddy said drolly. "Always. Why can't he convince them to visit him in England for once?"

"A creature of habit," McGonagall said lightly. "You know, I'm sure, that there is something to be said for one's own home."

"I suppose." Freddy uncrossed her legs, hoping she looked casual and most pleased with McGonagall's company. There was, however, something decidedly foreboding about the Deputy Headmistress's deportment that made her uneasy.

McGonagall was a predictable woman. Proper. Formal. She never dropped by the sanatorium without first owling her intention. This visit, Freddy guessed, was entirely spur of the moment. And it certainly wasn't like Minerva McGonagall to be spur of the moment.

Something had driven her to impulsion. Something bad. And yes, Freddy knew she was playing into her own, personal stereotype of jumping to the wrong conclusion, but she really couldn't help herself.

They were in the middle of a discussion on just who would be hired to replace Lupin as professor for Defense Against the Dark Arts, when Freddy's patience and reason failed her.

"Dumbledore's letting me go!" she blurted out, minding, at once, that intemperance was becoming a nasty habit of hers.

McGonagall was startled. "What do you mean, Forbia?" she demanded.

Freddy shrunk back between the wide, wicker arms of her chair, flushing hotly. "That's why you're here, isn't it? To tell me that Dumbledore has decided to let me go. I'm taking too long to recover…he'd rather hire someone else."

McGonagall's expression shifted from bemusement to frustration in an instant. "No! No, no, no you silly girl! Dumbledore has no intention of letting you go. I came to see you for another reason entirely."

Freddy's relief was dampened by shame. "I just thought…what…what is it that you came to see me for?"

"I don't know." McGonagall shook her head and frowned, her spectacles slipping down her straight nose. "I don't know if I ought to tell you now. You've worked yourself up into such a state!"

Freddy wanted to deny her upset, but held her tongue lest she appear sulky. "I am sorry I've ruined your visit."

"You haven't." McGonagall looked at her hard. It was well into the afternoon now, and the sunlight coming through the windows cut patches of yellow into her dark, tartan robes. "But I would rather you not have another reason to be glum…oh, very well. I thought you should know…I thought it would be of some interest. Hogwarts will be hosting the first Triwizard Tournament in over two centuries next year. Since you are professor of International Magic, I thought you would be excited to hear such news."

"Excited," Freddy echoed. Her voice was dangerously bleak. "Excited."

Of course she would be excited. The Triwizard Tournament was tailor-made for her field of scholarly interest. As Hogwarts' professor of International Magic, she would most certainly have a hand in coordinating the event, in working as a liaison to the other schools, and furthering academic outreach between the different student bodies.

It would be the opportunity of her career, of her lifetime…and she was going to miss it. Going to miss it because she was still in the sanatorium.

"You're right," she told McGonagall, after she had had a few minutes to digest the news, "I am feeling a bit glum now."

**

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Author's Note:

Thanks so much for reading! I know this chapter seemed a little scattered…but all these elements will soon converge in the next couple of installments. Also, for those of you missing Remus, he will be back for chapters 11 ad 12.

If you have a spare moment, please leave a review. I'd love to hear from you. The next chapter has already been written and should be posted soon. Until then, take care and be well!


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